


Another Life I Might Have Lived

by erinsgirl



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU (of a sort), Angst, F/M, Gen, Implied Murder, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Nothing too graphic but if it was in the show..., Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinsgirl/pseuds/erinsgirl
Summary: What if one moment in your life never happened? A mother lives, a brother survives and a family of choice never meets.
Relationships: Ana de Austria | Anne d'Autriche/Aramis | René d'Herblay, Athos | Comte de la Fère/Milady Clarick de Winter, Porthos/ Flea (Implied), d'Artagnan/Constance Bonacieux
Comments: 33
Kudos: 49





	1. Hold Back The River

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally inspired by the Agents' of Hydra, Agents' of S.H.I.E.L.D. arc (particularly the change one moment of regret premise) but I got severe writer's block and life got in the way. So even though it's not what I originally envisioned I decided to post it anyway rather than just delete. I will try to post as often as I can but I make no promises. Anyhoo, hopefully you'll all enjoy.
> 
> By the way, all the chapters will be named after and include lyrics to songs that are fanvids of our beloved show or songs I think would make great vids. First up is Hold Back the River, which is rather fitting when you hear and see the whole thing on YouTube. Feel free to give your own suggestions.

* * *

_Tried to keep you close to me  
But life got in between  
Tried to square not being there  
But it's there that I should've been_

_Once upon a different life  
We rode our bikes into the sky  
But now we're caught against the tide  
Those distant days all flashing by_

_Hold Back the River - James Bay_

* * *

The sun rose clear and bright over the farm. D'Artagnan paused briefly to take in the view.

"Magnificent isn't it?" He smiled at Alexandre D'Artagnan's words. It was an adept description and yet D'Artagnan didn't quite feel the wonder the sight inspired. He went through his chores as he always did, adequately but dispassionately. It didn't go unnoticed.

"I know you aren't interested in a future in farming." Alexandre cut him off before he could argue.

"Don't deny it. Anyone can see your heart's not in it. It's alright. But don't feel like you need to stay and help me."

"But I like helping you." He didn't have his father's joy in farming but D'Artagnan had always loved the time spent with the older man.

"I like you helping too. But I don't want you to feel like you're trapped here. I can get Espoir and your uncle to help. You should have a future you want."

"I don't know what I want." He didn't dislike his life. D'Artagnan would even say he was content in a way. But he felt – not lost – but aimless. His life, pleasant as it was, was missing something more, something better. But D'Artagnan hadn't a clue what.

"You used to want to be a knight when you were younger," Alexandre recalled fondly. "You'd get a stick and parry it around like a sword. You weren't bad at it either. Won every duel you had."

"Most of my duelling partners were ducks and geese and hedges and sheep."

"And Shep," Alexandre inserted, reminding him of the old sheepdog. "He gave you a few good challenges."

"He kept wanting me to throw the stick."

"Yeah but he gave you a reason to make sure he didn't get a hold of that stick."

They both laughed at the memories. "Well if any knights come looking for duels or help in righting wrongs against France, I'll take it as having your permission."

D'Artagnan didn't know it then but he was well practiced in righting wrongs in France and soon he would be needed to right the worst wrong of all.

* * *

The tiny hallway was dark and cramped. The darkness and the crampedness exaggerated by the large man now standing in it, trying unsuccessfully not to knock anything down.

"Porthos, is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me."

Marie-Cessette appeared beaming at the sight of her son. She waved him in, insisting as she always did, he sit and eat. Porthos took up most of the tiny kitchen – always had, but there was always a comfort in being there. Marie-Cessette was not only an excellent cook, she doted on her son without smothering him.

He gave a brief update on his life between mouthfuls of an excellent roast. "Not much. Flea and me are taking a break at the moment, mutually, still friends- "

"What was the fight about this time?" Marie-Cessette was no fool.

"I might have a new job."

"What kind of job?"

"Still waiting for the full details."

"Is it legal?"

"It's not illegal."

Marie-Cessette sighed. "And why didn't Flea like it?"

"It means a different lifestyle. A different life."

"Flea doesn't want different?" She always knew how to read him.

"Flea loves the court." It was one of the few things they'd constantly disagree on. Flea thrived in the court. It was home for her, now and forever. Porthos didn't hate it but he'd never stopped wanting out from the first day he understood there was another world to go out into. "Charon wasn't happy either."

His mother hmphed softly. Porthos knew she didn't approve of the friendship.

"Charon's been there my whole life, Maman. And he's always had my back when I'm in trouble."

"But not necessarily getting you out of it. I like him, I do. But he's usually the one getting you into worse trouble."

"It's both of us." Charon had been his friend since he could remember. Porthos had to defend him, even if some of what Marie-Cessette said was a little closer to the truth than Porthos liked. Charon hadn't been there when Porthos had met his father. Porthos hadn't trusted the way he would react. He hated when it happened, but every so often, the thought crossed his mind that Charon was not the best friend Porthos would ever have. But if Charon wasn't then who was?

She gave him a look. "I know that." Anything else she might have said was lost in a coughing fit. Porthos' discomfort immediately transformed into concern. He quickly filled a glass and grabbed the prescription bottle from the press. It was nearly empty.

"What did the doctor say? Did she give you more pills?"

She smiled sadly. "There may not be much more she or the pills can do."

 _You mean there may not be more we can afford to do._ Porthos hated it. The doctors and the tests and the medicine all cost money. Money they didn't have. Porthos supplemented where he could. He never let on though. Even if he was twice her size, Marie-Cessette Du Vallon would tan his hide if she thought he was stealing, especially on her behalf. She'd encouraged Porthos to achieve his potential his entire life, his no-good father and poverty be damned. This was a chance for a better life for him, for them. But it would take time. Time Marie-Cessette didn't necessarily have. Porthos didn't care what it took, he'd get her that time.

* * *

"I can't believe it! Only you would think to work on your birthday!"

Athos smiled but didn't look up. "The business doesn't just grind to a halt because I got a year older."

"Well, the _**business**_ mightn't. It also won't collapse, if you take a few hours off and celebrate your birthday with your favourite brother."

"You're my only brother."

"Which makes me your favourite, if only by default."

"The same argument could be used to make you my least favourite one."

Thomas made a face. The effect ruined as he broke into a laugh. "Tell you what? I'll duel you."

Athos put down his pen, leaning back in his chair. His lips quirked in amusement as the younger d'Athos carefully pulled the prized rapiers from their display case.

"Aren't you afraid I'll grind to a halt."

"That'll just help me win."

"Never going to happen," Athos stated as he stood, elegantly pulling the blade free. Thomas grinned at him. For a moment Athos stared. He could have sworn in Thomas' place another stood. Longer hair, brown eyes instead of green but a similar spark. Thomas lunged, and the flash was gone.

They parried and lunged back and forth. The younger, while not unskilled, lacked the natural talent of the older and victory fell easily to the latter.

Thomas groaned. "I will beat you one day. But you can make it up to me."

"Shouldn't that be the other way around?"

"Nope. Now come on, you're going to enjoy your birthday even if I have to make you."

Athos raised an eyebrow but allowed Thomas to pull him away from the study. While Thomas' ideas of 'fun' usually differed greatly to his, Athos wanted to spend time with his younger brother. It seemed like they never had enough time together.

Thomas' idea of making him enjoy his birthday wasn't as bad as Athos had feared. He'd arranged a clay pigeon shoot. But it was Thomas' enthusiasm that gave Athos the most enjoyment.

"Damnit!" Thomas sighed at the missed shot as the target flew wild. "No one could have made that shot!" Athos bit back the correction just in time. Thomas was right. It was at best an improbable shot to make. Athos didn't know anyone capable of making one at those distances. So why did he think he did.

It had started happening more and more. A thought, a feeling. Athos would have called it a sixth sense or psychic sign if he believed in those kinds of ridiculous notions. It would just be for a moment when something seemed wrong, missing, different. A smoke he could not grasp. And he did not know where these doubts had come from.

The moment had ruined all enjoyment of the shooting for him, but Athos hid it not wanting Thomas to be disappointed. The younger brother was oblivious to the other's worried reflections and continued on cheerfully.

When it got too dark to continue, Athos gladly followed Thomas back to the house. All he wanted was a drink (or three) while he thought.

"SURPRISE!" Athos stepped back, his hand automatically going to his waist and swiping at air.

"Happy Birthday Olivier." Anne looked radiant as always as she came up to him. A teasing smirk formed on her lips. "Try not to look so petrified in front of our company." He raised a wry eyebrow. The sight of so many people in their home made him uncomfortable but it did not terrify him.

"I would have preferred we celebrate in private, just the two of us."

"I believe we did that this morning." Her smiled turned to one of promise. "There is still time later. When our guests are in less of a state to notice our absence." Her fingers trailed against his shirt as she moved to talk to another guest.

Athos grabbed a drink as he surveyed the crowd. Most of the guests were neighbours, family friends or business associates. For the most part, people he liked to an extent. It was only having to interact with them all at the same time for several hours that was wearying. Thomas and Anne were the social butterflies, the ones who enjoyed the crowds and the spotlight. They were born for it.

Athos finished his drink and helped himself to another one. At least nobody had decided to shoot any melons.

* * *

"Captain." Treville halted at the polite address. Few still referred to him by his former title, especially in the vast gardens of this estate. His irritation was tempered as Anne approached him.

"I heard you were thinking of retiring."

Diplomacy and honeyed words were never something Treville had been good at. He'd never had any desire to. He was a soldier through and through. There were times he bit back words. Once it had been a necessity to avoid an escalation. And then the necessity increased until it become too frequent. Treville had spent far too much of his life minding his tongue. He didn't now. He wanted the truth known. "Others are thinking it."

Gentle sympathy shone in her eyes. "Then I hope those others can be persuaded to think differently. Whatever the outcome I hope you will still visit as a friend."

"I will always be your friend." If Treville did nothing else with his life, he would keep that promise.

"Treville!" It did not escape his attention that the familiarity in Anne's expression disappeared, if not the warmth, at the new arrival. Treville's eyes narrowed at the blond man, his dislike hardening his features. There was no point in hiding it. Rochefort knew his feelings and didn't care.

The younger man eyed him with indifferent disdain. "I'm surprised to see you here. I would have thought you'd be busy planning, well, whatever you deem a plan."

"I'm not retired yet."

"I'm sure no one will notice if you start early." Treville felt his fingers tighten. No one would notice because they wouldn't notice a difference. Because he wasn't worth noticing. The insult infuriated him.

Anne gracefully interceded between the two. "Whether he's retired or not, it shouldn't come as a surprise for Captain Treville to be here. He is a friend."

"Surely the **_former_** captain has other friends too. We shouldn't monopolise his time." The faux sincerity covering the open mocking just increased his ire. It was only his decades of soldier's discipline that kept him from ramming his fist into the blond's jaw.

"He is giving me away." He wasn't sure who was more shocked by Anne's statement, him or Rochefort. Rochefort had been rendered as speechless as he had.

"Who else would? You can hardly do it. Treville is the only family I still have here."

"I can think of no greater honour." He'd said it to stop Rochefort from finding a way to prevent it. But the relief and gratitude on Anne's face was a far greater reward than Rochefort's barely restrained irritation.

"Well, that's settled." Rochefort spoke through gritted teeth. "You must have other matters to attend to as well. We won't take up your time." To anyone else it would have been dismissal. Anne wore her mask too well sometimes. She may have felt dismissed, then again, she had duties of her own that she was no doubt due to.

"What are you playing at Treville?" Rochefort snarled as soon as they were alone.

"I don't play games, unlike some. I may no longer be in your service, _**Sir.**_ But I will always serve Anne." He turned on his heel. The exchange was in danger of turning into one of open contempt and insults. Treville had no regrets. He had loathed the years where he had been forced to serve the man. If it had not been for his oaths, he would have resigned his post long before retirement.

Treville had willingly sacrificed any thoughts of a family for a career as a soldier. It had been a decision he had made with no regrets. But the regiment he had been rewarded was lost before it even began. His brothers-in-arms were dead or displaced. The family and children he swore to protect, had been taken by an enemy he could not fight. Anne and France were all that he had left, and he would not fail them.

* * *

Rochefort glowered at Treville's retreating back. The man should be grateful to serve Rochefort as he had. His career could have been as easily destroyed as his life. Instead Rochefort had shown mercy and allowed the washed-up soldier to keep some of his former dignity.

He had planned to kill him but having him work for him (and the man's resentment because of it) had been a more just punishment. Besides without his trained pets, Treville by himself was not a threat and he was loyal to the memory of the Bourbon legacy. Which meant he was loyal to Rochefort.

Hs mood intensified with the sight at his door. "Captain Treville didn't seem happy when he left." The words were drawled. Combined with the man's slouched posture and the hat that hung low over his eyes, the newcomer appeared to be almost asleep. But the alert tone and the way he instantly moved to attention betrayed the illusion.

"Former Captain Treville can't handle that he's no longer relevant or necessary."

"So, you really are firing him? Pity, he's one of the few men you have who actually possesses a full working brain."

Rochefort glared at the man who lacked any self-preservation as he shrugged. "I don't pay you for your opinions on the Red Guards."

"Doesn't make them any less useless."

How he wanted to kill this man. But as with Treville it wasn't that simple. Besides Rochefort knew living was far more excruciating than death. The dead did not know pain and the man now known as the Cardinal deserved a very special kind of torture.

He picked a folder off his desk and handed it to the man. "This is your new assignment." The Cardinal glanced over it quickly, for once silent. With a nod he was gone.

Rochefort watched him go. He would know agony by the end.

The faintest shift in the air alerted him to his newest visitor. "I did not send for you."

"You do not send for me at all. _**I**_ decide when we talk."

"I'm busy."

"I don't care." He met Rochefort's dark look with one of his own. "I am not the King of France and I am not the Spanish. You _**will not**_ renege on our arrangement."

 _'How dare he!'_ Rochefort buried his fury. He needed to be patient. He was so close this time. "You will get what you were promised."

"I had better. Or you will get what you were promised." He was gone as seamlessly as he arrived. Rochefort's ire simmered but didn't quite cool. The Inseparables and the meddlesome Madame Bonacieux had no reason to interfere this time. They had what they most wanted. And after all the musketeers and their Inseparables didn't even exist.

* * *

_Lonely water, lonely water  
Won't you let us wander?  
Let us hold each other?  
Lonely water, lonely water  
Won't you let us wander?  
Let us hold each other?_

_Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes  
Hold back the river  
So I can stop for a minute and be by your side  
Hold back the river, hold back_

* * *

_**Anyone familiar with my stories knows I often ask questions and love hearing other opinions from fans so I'll be posting questions at the end of every chapter. Feel free to give your opinion in your reviews (as always please be respectful of other views, I will delete any reviews I think are abusive to other commenters.)** _

_**Now for the question...** _

_**What is the best season?** _

_**Two is my favourite and three is... mixed but I think one is the best overall. It introduced us to this world, built some of the overall themes and plots and developed the characters greatly over the first ten episodes into the heroes we loved. It was probably the most consistent in terms of quality overall and had some great stand alone stories and g** **uest stars so I'm giving it the title.** _

_**As always please let me know what you think.** _


	2. Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone following and reviewing this story. I've had a few queries about where Aramis is. He was actually in the last chapter! (Granted he wasn't referred to as Aramis but he was there). He shows up in this one as well a bit more noticeable, and so does Constance for anyone wondering where she is too.
> 
> Shout out to beeblegirl who's the closest so far to figuring out what's going on:) It may take a while but there is an explanation coming (from someone you'll never suspect.
> 
> I love the song Human by Christina Perri and the one by the Rag n Bone Man. This chapter is named for the Perri version which has a beautiful Queen Anne vid on YouTube and there's a great version of the Rag n Bone Man one with the Season Three antagonists too. Both are really fitting (especially the Queen Anne one, pretty much sums up the poor girl's situation). Oh in case it wasn't clear I own nothing! Not the songs, not the characters, storylines or the show, not even the vids. Those were all created by people much more talented than me, I'm merely showing my appreciation as a fan.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

_I can hold my breath  
I can bite my tongue  
I can stay awake for days  
If that's what you want  
Be your number one_

_I can fake a smile  
I can force a laugh  
I can dance and play the part  
If that's what you ask  
Give you all I am_

_Human – Christina Perri_

* * *

Constance sighed and continued staring out the window. The shop was quiet. All her work for the day was done. There were no customers for her to deal with. No orders to inventory. She'd already re-organised the thread and pins. Twice.

"You may as well go." Constance blinked looking at Louise.

"Go where?"

"I don't know. Get a coffee, take a walk, go wherever young people your age go." Constance didn't know either. She gabbed her bag and wandered down the street aimlessly. Much like Constance herself.

She liked working at Louise's shop. She liked being a seamstress and meeting people, talking to people. But for every person who was grateful for her help in restoring a beloved vintage piece or reseaming a barely affordable dress to fit just right, there were twenty others who barely seemed to notice Constance or wouldn't care if she bled all over their clothes because there was a hundred more they could buy.

Constance liked being a seamstress. She didn't love it. It didn't drive her or inspire her. She wasn't passionate about it. It was a hobby and a useful skill, that was it. Constance wanted something more from life. Something wild and noisy and exciting. Whatever that looked like.

Her mother hinted and probed about men. Her father kept asking her what career she wanted if she wasn't going to be a seamstress. Her former classmates were travelling or getting married or working towards their dream jobs.

The only thing Constance was sure about was being Jacques' wife would have been wrong.

She frowned at the self-pity. Feeling sorry for herself was helping no one, least of all her. Louise was happy to let her come and go as she pleased for the most part. Constance ensured her work was done and done well. She had a source of income and a roof over her head. Now she was going to get a life.

* * *

"Where is Marguerite? It is not like her to be so late."

"I fired her last night." Anne frowned at her fiancé.

"Whatever for?"

Rochefort's face morphed into a confused frown. "Why would I not? Her carelessness and incompetence endangered you. The treatment you endured was unforgiveable."

Anne flushed slightly from the memory. And from anger, Marguerite had apologised profusely. "She made a mistake. She deserved another chance. It was not your decision to make." Marguerite was _her_ assistant. Whether she remained in Anne's employ or not was _Anne's_ decision.

"Forgive me. I thought I was helping you. You are too kind." The apology did little to soothe Anne's anger, though she smoothed her features. Hiding her feelings was something she had done since childhood.

Rochefort seemed contrite, but Anne couldn't let it go. More and more, it seemed, he took decisions without consulting her. At first, Anne had been grateful. Louis' sudden death so young, had been a shock. Anne had barely recovered from the illness herself. She had leaned heavily on the support, friendship and advice of Rochefort and Treville. That routine had lasted longer than it should have while she completed her formal education.

Rochefort had developed the habit of making decisions that he shouldn't, assuming authority when he shouldn't. It had only increased when they had gotten engaged. Anne had tried to subtly take back control, but he didn't seem to take any heed.

He was trying to help she knew. He was used to making decisions on Louis' behalf. Louis had given him free reign. And they were to be married, partners, equals. But Anne wasn't Louis. She was the one who had inherited, not Rochefort. And sometimes it felt as if he was not treating her as an equal. As if she was too weak and delicate to make decisions or handle the difficult tasks. Sometimes it felt as if he didn't know her at all.

"Why don't you finish preparing for the gala next week. You have a dress fitting this afternoon, don't you?"

"I need to prepare my speech for it." She excused herself. Unwittingly Rochefort had confirmed what she had started to suspect. She had never told him about the fitting. Someone else had given him that information.

She watched her staff bustle round her meeting rooms in the mirror. Which of them was it? Or was it more than one? Claire and Marie didn't like her, she knew. Or Antoinette and Beatrix? They were nice girls but neither of them thought of anything, but men and parties and they gossiped like fishwives. They could have carelessly spilled information with their indiscretion. Or Marguerite? Anne didn't think she gossiped with the others, but they were not close, and Marguerite may not have realised the extent of what she said.

Rochefort didn't like her confiding in others, he didn't like her having friends he didn't approve of. He was her fiancé, he loved her, supported her, protected her. She should be able to tell him all her secrets. She hadn't noticed so much at first, she'd seen it as friendship and concern for her. But gradually she'd realised he wanted to know everything, wanted to control everything. Almost all of her current staff had been appointed by Rochefort. And even the ones that weren't were now supplying him with information whether she wished them to or not.

Perhaps she was overthinking things, being too sensitive. But the suspicions in her mind would not release her. She needed to get away, escape for a few hours somewhere where she did not have to constantly guard her thoughts and feelings.

The speech was a handy excuse. Her staff promising vehemently to leave her in peace, undisturbed to concentrate.

In reality Anne did not need to think about it. She knew what she had wanted to say as soon as the gala had been suggested.

Public speaking was something that came naturally to her. She had been trained and taught and practiced in the art form since before she could remember. Her words were a power. They could connect, inspire, engage. They could be a sword or a shield. Create bridges or burn them.

Her cadence could direct, defend or defer.

Anne knew the importance her speech would have. She knew what she wanted to say, and she knew if she practiced too much it would be too rehearsed. She wanted to be heartfelt and meaningful not overly trained. Robotic and insincere would not help the cause.

The clothes she pulled on were worn but clean. Satisfied she looked more like an average young woman instead of the heiress she was, she slipped down the backstairs. At this time of day everyone would be elsewhere in the house.

She kept her head down as she crossed the paths but still she felt eyes on her. Instinctively she glanced up. She scolded herself at her mistake deliberately letting her hair fall forward. She had looked straight towards the wing of Rochefort's offices. Hopefully whoever was looking out wouldn't recognise her. She knew few of the guards and men in his specific employ, with any luck they too were unfamiliar with her, especially from a distance.

She had no particular place in mind. She wandered through a park, enjoying the atmosphere. It was a beautiful day. Children chased each other across the grass, calling to their parents to push them on the swings or lift them up to the monkey bars. She stopped longingly at the sight. She loved children. She hoped to be a mother someday.

Sometimes she dreamed of it. A tiny baby she held protectively in her arms. A little boy with her light hair and manner but with the eyes and smile of another. She had loved that boy in her dreams, known he was hers, but she never felt any connection to Rochefort.

It was ridiculous of course, it was just a dream. But while Anne hoped to one day be a mother she could never imagine Rochefort as a father no matter how hard she tried.

She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the other person until she felt the air leave her body at the force of the collision.

"I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention. Are you alright."

The other woman looked to be close to her age. She nodded, like Anne trying to regain her breathe in between apologies. Anne caught sight of the dropped ice-cream and immediately insisted on buying another. "I'm Constance."

It felt like they had been friends for years, before she realised it Anne was confessing some of her doubts. Constance understood. "I know I would have regretted marrying Jacques. I know I don't want to be just a seamstress for the rest of my life. I know what I _**don't**_ want, I'm just not sure what I _**do**_ want."

In return Anne confided some of her half-conceived plans for the future. She wanted to help France and the world, but she still wasn't sure how. Constance made an excellent confidante. She was logical and intelligent. She gently offered constructive criticism and had her own helpful ideas. Anne almost pleaded to be her friend. Thankfully Constance instantly agreed, delighted with the quickly blossoming friendship too.

Anne was still smiling when she snuck back in several hours later. Her smile melted into confusion as she trod on something. The partly-covered charm glinted as the sun briefly escaped the clouds.

She was still confused when she returned several minutes later and pulled the half-trodden chain free from the dirt. Why was Marguerite's favourite bracelet lying broken in the gardens, in Rochefort's wing of all places?

Steps sounded behind her. Instinctively she hid the broken jewellery in her hand. "Why do you have that?" For a moment Anne thought her discovery had been noticed but Rochefort was staring at her own necklace. She gently tugged the crucifix out of his hand.

"I haven't worn it in a while. It was a whim, I suppose." Truthfully, she was almost never without it. She couldn't even remember where the small bejewelled cross had come from, but she treasured it. Rochefort hated it though – it was too simple or ornate or religious for his tastes – but it represented her faith. Having it close gave her comfort. It made her feel brave and strong and protected, as if she was being watched over. Usually she hid it under her clothes, but she had forgotten to slip it back under her collar after changing back.

Rochefort said nothing. He cast one more suspicious look at the cross before looking at her. "What are you doing here?"

"I was coming to find you, to talk. I never come down here. What is that?" The small stone dwelling sat in the garden. She had passed it many times. It only now occurred to her that she had no idea what it was.

Rochefort dismissed her question. "Nothing of importance." He gestured towards the main residence. "What ideas do you have for the gala? I want to know them all." Anne let him guide her, but the vault still towered in the corner of her eye. Why had Marguerite's bracelet been beside it? Anne needed to make sure she was alright.

* * *

Anne d'Athos – once known as Milady de Winter, and never would be again, she had vowed – studied the embossed invitation languishedly. Olivier couldn't care less about it. He'd rather ignore that it ever came at all. She was sympathetic to his feelings. There were likely to be bores there, there always were at these things.

She flipped the small card around. A blue fleur-de-lis shimmered under the light. The card kept turning as she contemplated it. "It would be good for the business," she noted. "There would be a lot of potential customers and connections. Wealthy ones."

Her husband gave a non-committal sound. Anne smiled. She knew Olivier. His passion was wasted on de la Fere Acquisitions. It was to Olivier, as the eldest son, that the responsibilities of the business fell to, it was to Olivier that everyone looked to lead now that his father was dead.

He did his duty, admirably. Olivier had the sharp, objective mind for business. De la fere Acquisitions had quietly but steadily flourished since he had taken the helm.

"I don't mind going and doing the schmoozing," Thomas piped up with a grin. "But there is such a thing as strength in numbers. Especially with Anne there to help sell your charms." He tossed her a wink which she ignored. Tomas was a fun-loving flirt. She had come across the type often enough. Affluent, good-looking young men who thought they were perfection. All style and no substance. They were easy enough marks. A few minutes of smiles and suggestions and she could ask for whatever she wanted. But they bored easily and couldn't be relied on to tell you the weather outside accurately.

For brothers they couldn't be more different. Olivier was cool and calm, a consummate professional – on the surface, underneath he was passionate, decided and steadfast. Tomas appeared animated, witty and good-natured but there was little depth.

Thank God she had met Olivier, or she may have had to settle for someone like Thomas.

She studied the invitation again.

_You are cordially invited to the Louvre Foundation Charity Gala_

_At the Bourbon Family Fleur-de-Lis estate in Paris._

_All proceeds will be donated to the Paris Community Outreach Support Programme_

The Bourbons were one of the oldest and most influential families in Europe, and one of the richest. Most of them had succumbed to the various fatal fates powerful, wealthy families like theirs often attracted. There were still whispers about the sudden bout of illness that had torn through the family a few years back. A sister or wife was the head now, though many of the Bourbons' associates had embedded themselves into the fortune.

"It is a good cause and we did receive an invite personally. It would be rude to decline." Olivier's normally perfect stance slouched slightly. He was too well-mannered to insist on declining when _**she**_ was the one needling.

"We could make it more pleasure than business. Paris is the City of Love," she cajoled. "Why not a honeymoon."

She knew she had won, when he smiled. "You make it sound very enticing."

"I _**am**_ very enticing."

Catherine was the one to scowl. "Of course she wants to go Oliver. She wants to lord being a de la Fere over everyone there."

The men being present was the only thing stopping her from rolling her eyes. Of course that was why she wanted to go. It was why Catherine wanted to go as well. She was under no illusions with her sister in law. Thomas' girlfriend would rather have been Olivier's wife.

She knew Catherine didn't like but it didn't bother her. The other woman held even less importance to her than Tomas. Catherine was irritating, annoying, boring, demanding, stuck-up and shrill. She was jealous of Anne, pure and simple.

Her closet held more fine clothes than she knew what to do with and her dresser overfilled with jewels. She was no longer Milady de Winter, thief and con artist. She was Anne d'Athos, wife of one of the richest and most respected men in France.

Why shouldn't she enjoy the luxury and influence of her new position. She was never giving it up.

* * *

The rakish grin formed out of habit rather than actual intention. So too did the half-bow. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the giggling reflections of the two women as he continued down the corridor. Years ago such an encounter would have left him lighter, joyous, proud. Now he barely felt it.

The old Rene would have delighted in the potential flirtation, sprinted head long into the thrill. But the old Rene had died long ago. Rightfully. Perhaps one of the women would seek him out later as had happened before. They'd have a perfectly pleasant time but that would be it. There would be no attachment. Affection would be limited to that brief encounter.

The old Rene – or more accurately the young Rene – would be horrified at the cold indifference. But it was all this Rene could offer. The Cardinal did not have emotions. It was safer for everyone that way.

Rochefort didn't look up when he entered his office. He knew the blond man loathed him, even when he pretended to be civil his disdain shone through. That was alright. Rene didn't particularly like him either.

He raised a brow at the envelope in front of him. His work often involved a mix of tasks. His talents favoured certain jobs and his skill was unmatched. Yet his employer often sent him on ridiculous, undemanding errands that were a waste of his time, skill and Rochefort's money.

The other man glared coldly when he pointed it out. "I decide, what you do and when you do it. Don't you remember what happened all those times when _**you**_ made the decisions?"

The bodies flashed through his mind. He remembered very well.

Rochefort handed over the letter and dismissed him. It suited Rene. The less time spent with his employer the better. It wasn't a very Christian thought. If it wasn't for Rochefort who knew where he'd be. Homeless, destitute. Living day to day however he could survive. Probably dead. That last thought sat not uncomfortably.

He passed by the red guards at the gate without a glance. Still he didn't miss the far too relaxed on duty stance, the weapons not properly cleaned and carelessly holstered. Honestly it was a wonder they weren't attacked more often.

Rochefort had been a skilled soldier once but given the state of his men, he made a crap captain. His thoughts turned to Treville as they often did when his mind was particularly idle and introspective. Rene had never interacted with the older veteran himself, but he'd seen him. Even from a rooftop perch the captain's professionalism had been unmistakeable.

The red guards had never liked taking orders from the man but Treville's natural authority barking at them had saved their useless jobs if not their asses more than once.

The man should have been given an actual command not just a ceremonial role. But Rochefort was a man easily jealous and Anne Bourbon's fondness for Treville had ensured limited opportunities for praise elsewhere. It was a pity. Treville would have made an excellent officer. Maybe even one Rene could have proudly served under. He scoffed before that final thought was fully completed.

The Musketeers – Treville's phantom regiment – were inspired to be the best of the best. Chivalry, honour, fraternity. A cold-blooded, oath-breaking murderer like him would have never belonged.

He was where he was because God planned it for him. Rene's sins were far too great to be atoned. He lived as he deserved. An outcast and a murderer.

* * *

_But I'm only human  
And I bleed when I fall down  
I'm only human  
And I crash and I break down  
Your words in my head, knives in my heart  
You build me up and then I fall apart  
'Cause I'm only human_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long now before some familiar faces start meeting. You didn't think I was going to keep them separate for long did you? Next chapter will see a lot of people in the same place and with some interesting reactions, so be sure to come back soon.
> 
> So this chapter's question is what is the best episode. I'm going with 2.10. It had action, payoff, suspense and best of some great moments for all the cast: Porthos (mostly) single-handedly taking on the Spanish spy master and his bodyguards and winning; Constance having two of her most iconic, badass moments; D'Artagnan's rescue; Milady essentially proving she can break-in or out of anywhere in Paris; the court scene (one of the best in the show in my opinion); Treville holding a knife to Rochefort's throat and basically telling him to f off; Aramis telling Rochefort to f off and playing big damn heroes; Anne regally telling her obsessive, highly dangerous stalker (who tried to rape her and wants her, her baby and everyone she loves dead! and happens to be holding her prisoner!) to f off despite being alone in a room with him and having 0 way of protecting herself! Athos didn't get a really big badass moment, but he essentially spent all of the previous episode as MVP setting up all the key scenes and any opportunities they had to stop Rochefort in this episode so he justifiably gets the angst and a promotion instead. Even Louis gets a moment attempting to face death with dignity so I'm calling 2.10 the best episode. Agree with me? Have your own suggestions? Let me know :)


	3. Centuries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all my readers and reviewers. I've enjoyed reading your theories and hearing about your favourite episodes. Apologies for not replying sooner but I got unexpectedly busy. Anyhoo. here's the next chapter. Some of our lovely heroes start to meet each other and leave some impressions! And some geeking out over weaponry in very sober, reserved fashion from two of our favourite reserved characters.  
> If you have not seen or heard Centuries, check it out. It fits the show very well. (As the fanvid shows). Again I own nothing.

* * *

_Mama, fight my teenage dreams  
No, it's nothing wrong with me  
The kids are all wrong the story's aloof  
Heavy metal, rock my heart  
Come on, come on and let me in  
I'm cruising on your thighs, leave my fingerprints  
And this is for tonight  
I thought that you would feel  
I never meant for you to fix yourself_

_Remember me for centuries_

_And I can't stop till the whole word knows my name  
'Cause I was only born inside my dreams  
Until you die for me, as long as there is a light  
My shadow is over you 'cause I am the opposite of amnesia  
_

_Centuries – Fall Out Boy_

* * *

_Yvonne was asking for you._ D'Artagnan smirked at the text. Yvonne was pretty, smart, funny and could drive a tractor better than anyone he knew. Her parents owned a farm less than a mile away from the D'Artagnans. They'd gone to school together, grown up together, done other things together… Yvonne was the epitome of a Gascon farm girl. And that was all she ever wanted to be.

In another life D'Artagnan might have married her and they'd live happily ever after on their Gascon farm. But D'Artagnan wanted more adventure in his life. Yvonne considered that life an adventure. Even travelling to Paris held no appeal for her.

He glanced around. His current surroundings consisted of a simple, clean low-price twin hotel room. When his father had raised the idea of the trip, D'Artagnan had instantly agreed. He'd never been to Paris before. His father's goal – to meet with the owner of a company that had started operating in the area and caused significant problems – was a noble one that D'Artagnan fully supported. But that didn't mean they couldn't do some exploring right?

His father chuckled. "You just want to get out of doing all this reading and homework. Go on. Just make sure you call me when you get lost."

"I won't get lost!" He didn't really care if he did or didn't. He was in Paris! He would have some adventure surely!

* * *

"Nothing?" Anne repeated. "Nothing at all?"

Constance shook her head even though Anne wouldn't be able to see over the phone. "No. I've tried all the contact details you gave me. No response from email. Her phone just rings out, no voicemail. Her landlady said she paid up until the end of the notice period even though it's not for another month. She didn't have a forwarding address."

Anne was silent. Even through the line Constance could feel her worry, she offered what little comfort she could. "I'll keep trying," she promised.

"I know you will. But it isn't like Marguerite at all. I'm worried for her." Constance was too. She had never met Marguerite. She got the impression from Anne that the other woman hadn't known her assistant all that well either. But Anne cared for her, felt responsible for her. And so did Constance. Marguerite deserved to know someone was concerned for her, especially if she was upset.

There was a muffled sound in her ear, quickly replaced by Anne's breathless whisper. "I have to go. I'll call as soon as I can."

Constance wasn't offended by how quickly the line disconnected. Anne hadn't told her everything, but she had confided enough. Constance wasn't stupid, she could read between the lines. Anne's fiancé might not terrify her the same way he had Marguerite but that didn't mean Constance wasn't worried for two instead of one.

She realised that in her moment of distraction she'd lost her bag. Knowing that it couldn't have gone far she retraced her steps. The bag wasn't where she had left it. Frustrated she scanned the area. _There!_

"Oi. What do you think you're doing?" She swung her hand towards the young man even as her other one reached out to wrench her open bag from him. His arm was already half-way in it. Constance's eyes widened at the garment that dislodged itself from the bag into his fingers. She snatched the bra from him and stuffed it back in the bag, glowering at him.

He flinched away from her, rubbing his arm. "I'm sorry. I found it."

"And that gives you permission to walk around taking bags and riffling through a stranger's belongings does it?"

"I was looking for ID to return it." Seeing that she still wasn't placated, he held up his hands. "I'll pay you for the business you lost."

' _Business she…?'_ She started at the realisation. If she had been angry before she was livid now. "You think I'm a prostitute."

He looked her vest top and shorts up and down, his gaze glancing over to her bag. "Wellll…"

"It's forty degrees out! What else would I wear to avoid heatstroke! My uniform weighs fifty pounds. The red-light district's that way, if you can find a woman desperate enough for the money to tolerate you a few minutes." Her admonishment worked. The man – well boy really, he was so foolish and young – retreated.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. I was just trying to find out who owned the bag." Constance sniffed, unwilling to relent no matter how attractive or endearing his puppy dog expression. Still he seemed to be sincere.

"Well hopefully you've learnt your lesson." He apologised once more. She watched him go, mentally debating whether she should follow him or not. She still had work to do but it was only a matter of time before he got himself into trouble again.

"Give me your jacket." He blinked at her. She rolled her eyes in response. "The zip's gone on it. Now give it to me."

She took it from him and gave him the card for Louise's shop. "You can pick it up in a couple of days."

"You're going to fix it?"

"Why do you think I wanted you to give it to me?"

"You're a beautiful woman, I'm sure plenty of guys have given you their jackets."

It was Constance's turn to be momentarily stunned. She'd been hit on plenty of times before but the blunt way he said it, struck her. She recovered herself, shoving the jacket into her bag, she turned on her heel. "At least this way I'll know if you've stupidly gotten yourself killed between now and then." The smile he gave in no way softened her convinction she was going to regret her kind offer. Even if she did find herself smiling back.

* * *

The chatter of her assistants buzzed in the air but Anne only half-listened. Her mind was still contemplating what Constance had told her. The uneasiness she felt increased.

"Have you heard from Marguerite?" Beatrix paused, pins still in hand, surprise over her features. Anne smiled, trying to ease her suspicions. "I haven't been in touch with her since she left. I thought you might."

Beatrix shook her head as she secured the rest of Anne's locks into the elaborate hairdo. Claire met her eyes briefly over the make-up brush. "She was always a little odd. Never really said much."

A knock interrupted any further information.

Treville inclined his head in that formal way he always greeted her. "You wanted to see me?

Her smile was genuine this time. She pulled him aside where they could have some privacy, not caring if she was ready or not. Treville would hardly care as to her appearance.

"Proper protocol dictates that I should do this publicly."

"That's not necessary, Anne, whatever it is." She smiled. She had expected such an answer. Treville took pride in a job well done but he had always been a modest man. General acknowledgement and respect for his good work was all he needed.

"Public commendations will be made Captain, I promise you. But I wanted to give you this myself." Treville allowed minor curiosity in his features as he opened the box. His expression only hinted at the emotions she knew he felt at the sight of the blue and gold fleur de lis badges.

She met his questioning gaze with a small smile. "Louis had them commissioned shortly before… he took ill. He must have hidden them away for safe keeping. I found them among some of his things the other day." Even now it still hurt slightly. She and Louis had had many differences, their friendship strained from the pressures and forces that surrounded them. But he had been such an important part of her life for so long. Treville's saddened stare mirrored her own thoughts. Louis' absence was still felt. "I know he would want you to have them."

"He wanted his musketeers to wear them."

"There is still time."

"Rochefort wouldn't agree to it."

"Rochefort isn't the one holding those badges." She was aware of the animosity between the two men. She had spent her entire life aware of the politics and power that surrounded her world, how people lived in it. Neither Treville nor Rochefort were weak-willed, and both seemed perfectly capable of taking the dislike in stride. She had therefore remained a neutral party as much as possible but had made it known she would not cast aside her good opinion of one to please the other.

The musketeers had nothing to do with Rochefort. If Rochefort wasn't willing to use Treville's talents, then others should benefit at least.

* * *

The reception was busy as Treville passed through. Habit made him cast a glance at the security entrance. He instantly sensed a problem in the area at the far end. Discretely he walked over.

"Is there a problem?" The guard on duty was young and straightened as he recognised Treville.

"The machine's having trouble reading this ticket, Sir."

Treville scrutinised the blonde woman. The two men in her party stood to the side, having already passed through and were shifting restlessly, impatient. She was mildly irritated but calm, she turned to meet Treville's eye, not backing down.

He took the ticket and looked at it. There was a possibility of it being a forgery, but it was a good one. "Where did you get this ticket, miss?"

"I won it." Treville turned to the man who spoke. He had been standing further behind. Treville had only noted the necessary threat of the men, now he could openly see the face of the man who spoke.

He was looking at a ghost.

He had thought the boy might be dead. He had never been so glad to be wrong. The young man looked so like Belgarde Treville would have thought he really was looking at his former friend if not for the darker complexion.

The man stared steadily back, Treville snapped himself back to the present. "Where did you win it?"

"Card game with a man named Renard."

Anton Renard's son was an infamous partier and gambler who spent and bet his family's fortune like it was water. Losing the tickets in a poker game wasn't unlikely.

"Are the other tickets working?"

"Yes, Sir." The guard handed the ticket back to the blonde. "It was probably just damaged in your bag. You can go on in Mademoiselle."

"Enjoy the evening," Treville added, his eyes still on Belgarde's son. The young man nodded in reply, following his companions into the banquet hall.

Treville felt dazed. He was relieved to know the lad was still alive. And doing reasonably well for himself if he was playing cards with Edmund Renard – although the kind of company the younger Renard was rumoured to keep was not encouraging.

The revelation tore at him. He was always grateful that he never agreed to Belgarde's requests to dispose of his unwanted lover and child, but he always regretted not stopping Renard from doing so. It had destroyed their friendship and Treville still blamed himself for not acting quicker or better. At least his mistake hadn't cost _**one**_ life.

He resolved to make some subtle enquiries about the man. If he could help him, he would.

* * *

"I was not expecting you to say that." Anne stifled the urge to flinch. She never knew why but whenever Rochefort came up behind her, she always felt a shiver of discomfort. It only intensified when he ran his fingers along her shoulder, across the back of her neck.

She smoothly slipped away from his touch, using the pretence of seeing him more easily. She deliberately kept her tone light as she replied. "What were you expecting me to say?"

"I thought you would focus on all the achievements we had made, as we discussed." Years of practice kept her features schooled. There it was again. That edge in his voice that instantly put her guard up. It had been happening more and more. Anne didn't know why it happened. All couples had disagreements, that was normal. But there were times when it happened, times when she acted impulsively or contradicted his views, however innocently and he would tense. He never raised his voice, never threatened her but his tone became a demand and Anne always sensed the danger even though she couldn't determine the reason.

"I did mention them," she pointed out with a smile, "but we can't lead if we don't appreciate those who follow us."

He seemed placated slightly by that. She lightly lay her hand on his arm, smiling as she guided him back towards the crowd. "We shouldn't ignore our guests."

* * *

The canapes were good, and the wine was excellent. Athos could enjoy those treats at least as he watched from a corner of the great hall.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" He straightened, instantly recognising the young woman approaching as Anne Bourbon.

"My wife, my brother and his fiancée are the social butterflies. I'm quite comfortable just observing, I assure you." She followed his gaze across his room to where his Anne stood, centre stage. As much a queen holding court as the young woman beside him.

"Your wife has certainly enchanted many tonight."

"She always has." He couldn't keep the affectionate pride from his voice. He knew his wife. Anne could slice any of her new admirers to ribbons with her sharp tongue if she so chose. She was beautiful, clever, witty and could captivate any man or woman. At that very moment she caught his glance. Her flirtatious smile turned intimate as she blew him a kiss. He didn't miss the roll of her eyes or the flash of long-suffering contempt as she turned back to her audience.

Mademoiselle Bourbon smiled slightly at the scene. Athos was far from a poet or one for romantic speculation but there seemed something almost wistful in her features. It was gone even before it was fully there.

He carefully pulled her out of the path of two very enthusiastic (and very inebriated) dancers. The pair fell heavily against a table, pushing a chair hard to the ground. They were laughing as they pushed themselves up and back towards the dance floor, sending another chair crashing. Neither of them noticed the near assault they had almost accidentally conducted on their hostess.

She did a better job of hiding any feelings stronger than surprise. Athos let his disdain show only in the slight narrowing of eyes and tightness of his mouth.

"Thank you, Monsieur…" Only now did he realise he had never properly introduced himself.

"Olivier d'Athos, Mademoiselle."

"Monsieur d'Athos." She lightly appraised him. "Forgive me, but have we met?"

"My father did business with Henri Bourbon. Sometimes he brought my brother Tomas and I with him."

"Monsieur de la Fere, I remember now. It has been years." It had been rare the few times he and Thomas had accompanied their father, but the late Monsieur d'Athos had been determined to instil the family values into both his sons at an early age. Thomas had also been close in age to Louis Bourbon.

Athos had spent his late childhood and early teenage years on those trips watching over Thomas and his friends making sure they didn't fall into too much trouble. He remembered Anne too. The young girl often followed, even when she'd little interest in whatever pursuits the boys had. She had mostly read and watched; Athos recalled. Sometimes she had walked with him, asking him questions, or quietly observed, assessing the chaos around her even as it barely noticed her.

"I see your interests haven't changed too much," she commented. He looked back at the display case he had been studying on her arrival.

"I have always admired the collection here." It was true. The Bourbons had been ridiculously wealthy even by the standards of their circle. Both Louis and Anne were the latest in a long line of descendants from _very_ old families. The antique swords the Bourbons owned reflected it.

Anne seemed more amused than insulted that the weapons held his attention more than she could. In Athos' defence some of them were exquisitely made. "Now I know why you seemed so familiar and not because of our former acquaintance." She discretely summoned a figure across the room. Athos inspected him as he approached. He was nearing middle age but still moved easily and swiftly with a grace and balance that few younger men could match. His bearing didn't just hint of a military background, it proclaimed it. Athos noted with detached approval that the man's gaze scanned the room constantly as he came towards them, taking in everything happening in the expansive space, including Athos' own subtle scrutiny.

"Treville this is Monsieur Olivier d'Athos. He has an interest and admiration for Henri and Louis' collection. Athos meet Captain Jean Treville, he would be happy to discuss any items you have an interest in." Her smile widened with delight. "I think you will both find tonight far more bearable in each other's company than you will purely by yourselves." She demurely stepped away. "Please excuse me, I must say hello to your brother Athos."

Treville watched her go with fondness.

"Do you know Mademoiselle Bourbon well."

"Since she came to France as a child."

Despite his dislike for polite, meaningless small talk, Athos was well practiced in it. He gestured around them. "She went to great lengths for this."

"Mademoiselle Bourbon has always had a kind heart, and an insistence in using it. Whether the recipient is worthy or not." The last words were muttered too low to be meant for Athos' ears, but he caught them anyway. Just as he caught the quick, sharp glare.

Athos had not yet come close enough to their host to converse with him, but he could understand Treville's distaste. Even from a distance the blond's contempt for everything around him and general sense of superiority rolled off him. Rochefort wasn't the first man that he had ever wanted to punch to see what it would feel like, but he couldn't ever remember the desire forming so quickly.

He honestly didn't understand what the Anne Bourbon he had just met, saw in the man, that made her agree to marry him. He didn't ask though. He doubted Treville was the gossiping sort, especially about a young woman he clearly considered under his protection if the defensive, almost paternal, way he spoke indicated.

"She seems to have a similar high regard for you."

"She values loyalty and believes in credit where credit's due, from her perspective." The man's modesty was genuine. Athos suspected this quality had at least partly prompted the warm praise from their hostess. The man took the compliments in stride, but Athos could see having the young woman's esteem meant something more to him.

"It would appear to be justified, given the quality of these weapons. I assume you advised Henri Bourbon?" The collection was too impressive, and Treville too competent a military man not to.

"And his son Louis." Treville surveyed the display, only barely hiding his true examination of Athos. "You have an eye for weaponry yourself. I saw clips of some of your matches. You were quite the swordsman. Have you kept it up?"

"I try, but other responsibilities take priority these days." He still practiced several times a week. The sport had a way of clearing his mind and helping his focus, but he was not quite as adept as his younger champion self.

Treville made a sound that he couldn't quite decipher. "Which do you like best?"

The question surprised Athos slightly but he didn't show it. Without skipping a beat, he answered, "the silver rapier on the left. It's superbly made and its balance nearly perfect. The schiavona would be second."

"Most people say the sabre in the centre." Treville's gazed was fixed on the sword in question, his tone smoothly level. Athos felt like he was being tested. The sabre was eye catching, the blade had been highly shined to gleam in the light, the hilt was intricately formed in gold and the guard glittered with precious stones. But Treville didn't seem like a man who valued finery over functionality. The sabre's presentation dead centre suggested someone did though.

"It is very ornate but a piece like that would be primarily ceremonial and has no place on a battlefield," he said diplomatically.

Treville nodded to himself. "Do you know what ceremonies it had?" Athos grabbed them drinks from a passing waiter as Treville recounted the fascinating history of the weapons he had admired. It was turning out to be a very pleasant evening.

* * *

"What are _**you**_ doing here?" Milady felt the fingers encircle her wrist just as she was spun around. She matched the blond man's glare with one of her one, lacing it with disgust and disdain. "What do you think _**you're**_ doing? Take your hand off me!" His hold was solid and even in her anger she couldn't shake it.

The man didn't seem to listen. He pulled her closer, his grip tighter and his stare harder. If she didn't free herself soon, she'd have some colourful bruises to remember the night.

"Anne!" Oliver and another man were quickly moving through the crowd toward her. Relief shimmied through her though she didn't show it at the sight of her husband. The restraint on her arm loosened and she pulled herself free. She stepped back putting herself shoulder to shoulder with Oliver.

The man's scowl fixed on her husband. He glared right back.

"Why were you manhandling my wife!"

"Your wife?" For a moment his stare softened in confusion before pasting into scornful distaste.

"Rochefort! What is going on?" Anne Bourbon was making her way over to them, Thomas close behind her. Catherine followed in their wake, her usual sneer in place.

The younger Anne discretely placed herself between Rochefort and their guests. Milady caught the fleeting surveillance she gave the room, checking that the scene had gone unnoticed. "Madame d'Athos is a guest. What on Earth could she have done to warrant such treatment?"

Rochefort's gaze fleeting slid off Thomas and Catherine, "you know them?" – she wasn't surprised to see the dislike, but it seemed to be the man's general feeling towards people rather than it just being Thomas and Catherine – and landed on the young woman.

"Athos' late father was a business associate of Henri Bourbon. Oliver and Thomas were occasionally playmates of Louis'. I have not seen them in years, but they deserve an explanation for whatever misunderstanding has taken place."

Milady subtly raised a brow in begrudging approval. Anne's tone had been light and calming on the surface but there was a hint of metal buried in her voice. The hand resting his arm helped placate the tension. It was an easy manipulation technique, Anne seemed only half-aware of doing it. Milady had written her off as sweetly innocent and naïve who earnestly believed in **_good_**. A delicate flower who would be trampled in an instant in the real world. But there was clearly more guile and steel in her than first appearances indicated.

Rochefort paused for a moment. She had been in the presence of enough calculating men to recognise that he was considering his options for the best approach.

"My sincerest apologies" – _yeah right_ – "for my appalling behaviour Madame. I confused you for someone else."

"It's fine." She let the matter go for once. Rochefort gaze was once again clear and fixed straight on her and Milady suppressed a shudder. _There's something_ _ **wrong**_ _about him._ Her self-preservation had kept her alive this far. Rochefort was a different type of dangerous than she usually dealt with. It made her wary. Whatever influence Anne Bourbon had over him it was intemperate at best.

She didn't fight Olivier when he insisted they leave – he sensed something amiss too. But even after they returned to their hotel room, she couldn't shake the feeling that Rochefort had known _**exactly**_ who she was.

* * *

"You cheated!" Porthos leaned back in the chair, slightly offended by the accusation.

"That any way to treat your boss' guests?"

"He didn't invite you to swindle us out of our earnings."

"Nah, you did that all by yourselves." One of them slammed a hand on the table. The effect was somewhat ruined by the significant swaying of the man.

He'd found them accidentally. Flea and Charon had the main room covered. And the Red Guards had a reputation for throwing their weight around, especially to those they saw beneath them or couldn't fight back. The bored group had been less than polite and respectful to the poor staff that had gotten stuck with the job of bringing them refreshments when Porthos had stumbled upon them. He'd had no qualms about suggesting a friendly game of poker or taking some of their pay off their hands with some hidden cards.

"You're nothing but a con artist."

"Now, now. That's slander."

"Like you'd ever know what that is."

Porthos could almost taste the fight. It was four against one. "It's a false accusation against a person's integrity. For example, you don't know that I did cheat so that's slander. I however know you're both drunk and a terrible player as evidenced by me having your money. That's truth."

They lunged for him together. Porthos, being considerably more sober and possessing working brain cells, jumped back out of reach. There was the slight problem of them being between him and the door, however.

Porthos was big, but he'd learnt to be agile when he needed to, and how to move when you had to. You didn't survive the Court of Miracles otherwise.

The first two went down quick, still conscious though. He just needed to get past them not put them permanently down. Groans echoed behind him even as they turned to angry shouts and bangs on the locked door. He came to an abrupt stop. Three more red guards filed out of a far door, weapons in hand. Porthos was unarmed and he didn't feel like getting arrested or shot.

A shadow descended across the corridor. The guards barely had time to look up as the voluminous fabric from above landed directly on top of them.

It was too dark on the upper level to see more than silhouettes. Porthos tossed a nod of thanks to whoever was responsible and seized the opportunity he'd been given.

He slowed to a walk, slipping outside and blending in with some other guests that were leaving. He smiled and nodded as he skirted the thin crowd that mingled on the front steps as they waited for their cars to be brought to them.

Porthos had never been unnoticeable with his size and skin but he'd learnt how to blend into his surroundings unobtrusively. A necessity for pickpocketing and escaping the attention of those whose attention he didn't want to attract. Now it helped hide his intentions.

He had almost made it to the gate when the shock hit him. He grunted barely staying on his feet. He growled at the guard. The bloody taser was still in the bloke's hand. Two of them grabbed an arm each, one of them landing a punch to his ribs.

"You seem a bit lost there. How about we help you inside and get you taken care of." The words were to reassure those around them, but the partygoers were too distracted. Too busy getting into their cars or getting the next social invite to notice the knife in the hand of the third guard.

The taser had been strong. Porthos was still disorientated. He braced himself, maybe they'd miss anything vital.

The guard groaned as a car door hit him. The occupant hopped back out, apologising in a clipped drawl. "Here let me help you." A flash of metal glinted and then disappeared. The man wasn't much help since he jerked the guard too hard, leaving the man struggling to find his balance. The momentary reprieve had given Porthos a chance to catch his second wind.

"Are you all right?" The driver glanced from the guard beside him to Porthos and the other two. He gave off an air of feigned politeness and half-concealed disinterest, but his eyes were sharp. In comparison the two women of the party exuded genuine boredom while the other man was half in, half out of the car watching with wide-eyed bemusement.

Porthos grinned. "Just got a bit of a shock there. Much appreciated for the hand gents, but I'll be fine on my own." The guards stepped back without comment. As much as they didn't want to let him go, they wanted a scene and questions even less. He was happy to take advantage of that little fact.

He didn't stop grinning as he strode past the gate, waving at the driver and the guards as he did.

His expression only faded when something pressed against his jaw. "You better change clothes before you go back to the court. Someone might mistake you for a gentleman and slit your throat."

Flea tossed the stick away, still waving his hard earned – partly earned – reward for the night.

"How did you get on?"

"Better. Rich men seem to think flattery means a woman wants to steal their hearts instead of their wallets."

"Thought probably never crossed their mind, you looking so like a lady and all."

Her eyes narrowed, "no need to get insulting."

"Where's Charon?"

"We split up, cover more ground that way. I saw him a few minutes ago though. Right before you caused all sorts of excitement." Her smirk made it clear exactly what she thought of the excitement he caused.

"Come on, we better get back. Charon knows where to meet us." It was too dangerous to just wait where they were. They were too close if the red guards decided to come looking again. Charon could look after himself, he knew how to come out on top.

* * *

"What do you mean, _**escaped**_ _!?"_ Rochefort glared at his captain.

"A guest got involved, sir. We couldn't hold him without risking questions." He dismissed the man. His mood was worsening by the minute. The description of the miscreant had been scarce, but Rochefort knew it was Porthos. It couldn't be a coincidence, not the same night Athos and Milady de Winter had reappeared. And they were married?

He dismissed any surprise he had. Now was the time to think and prepare. Milady and Athos had not recognised him. That was good. Anne and Treville interacting with them was a concern but there was still time to remedy things.

The two guards at the door jumped to attention at his approach. "The Cardinal is to be in my office first thing. And find out everything you can on Milady de Winter or Anne d'Athos."

The man in the small room glared at him but he was too sore and broken for it to have much heat. The beginnings of a bruise could be along his swollen cheek. Rochefort cast a pointed look at the cuffs. The man's well-being nor freedom meant nothing to him one way or the other. But his pathetic life might be of some use.

"You tried to rob me. That was a mistake. Now you can pay for that mistake with your life or you can fix it by helping me. And be rewarded not only with your life but something even more valuable." He waved the wad of notes in his hand. The wretch raised his head, his expression guarded but curious. Rochefort knew he had him hooked. "I want you to tell me everything you know about Porthos."

* * *

_Some legends are told  
Some turn to dust or to gold  
But you will remember me  
Remember me, for centuries  
Just one mistake  
Is all it will take  
We'll go down in history  
Remember me for centuries_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rochefort is going to start making plans and he's not the only one, when we return next time.  
> This week's question is... Who is your favourite guest star? I think for me it would probably be Ninon or Marsac because they both gave some interesting perspectives and contrasts to several characters. Although the Bonaires and the Mother Superior are definitely strong contenders for sheer awesomeness and entertainment!. As always send me your thoughts :)


	4. This is War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not posting sooner or replying to reviews. Not only have I been unexpectedly busier than usual but I'm having on and off computer problems as well.  
> No reunion between the boys yet (they will all be face-to-face in about two chapters time though so hang in there) the building blocks are starting though and Rochefort tries to get the upper hand.

* * *

_A warning to the people,  
The good and the evil,  
This is war._

_To the soldier, the civilian,  
The martyr, the victim,  
This is war._

_This is war - 30 Seconds to Mars_

* * *

The Cardinal was waiting outside his office the next morning as ordered.

"Why didn't you apprehend the intruder that was here last night?"

"I wasn't close enough."

"How close does the best shot in France need to be to fire?" The barely perceptible clench of the hands and jaw, the tightening of the jaw. Rochefort knew what to look for.

"I didn't realise we were unlawfully executing unarmed men."

"We do if they're a threat. Did you know him." The confusion was real as was the denial. They were all still strangers to each other.

"There is reason to believe some con artists are operating in Paris. They're targeting my fiancée with the likely intention of stealing our fortune and destroying our wedding."

"Mademoiselle Bourbon doesn't deserve that."

Rochefort leapt on the opening. "And how do you know what Mademoiselle Bourbon deserves or not?"

"Only from what I've heard. She's helped a lot of people and she's always well-spoken of."

Nothing more. Still Rochefort could not let it go. "And do I deserve it?" He didn't allow him the chance to reply. "Because I helped you. I'm the only one who would employ you after your _**dishonourable discharge.**_ I'm the only one who took pity on a wretched, pathetic coward. Even your friend Marsac wanted nothing to do with you, do you remember?"

"I remember." Physical torture only got you so far. It wasn't the body that needed to be broken.

"Then you'll remember how much you owe me and do as I order in dealing with these criminals. I intend to keep my wife safe, unlike you." The words hit their target. It was the torment to the mind and spirit that truly worked, that lasted. Rochefort had learnt that long ago. "Dismissed."

He watched him leave. The man needed to remember his allegiance to Rochefort if he wanted to live. One day he decided, when Anne had had his son, the sniper would encounter them and know they belonged to Rochefort. And then Aramis would know the true pain of having your love stolen from you.

He opened the drawer and studied the ring, sliding it onto his hand. The ring that ensured nobody would stop him.

* * *

"Where were you?" It was officially morning a good hour ago, so Porthos fully understands Flea's worried tone. Charon just shrugged.

"I had to make sure I wasn't followed and make new arrangements." He shot an accusing look at Porthos. "You were almost caught!"

Charon's anger is justified. His friend's ire quickly turned to cheer. "Tell me you at least robbed them blind."

Porthos returns the grin, feigning indignation at the implication and showing his takings. Their small celebration was interrupted by his phone.

The closest hospital to his mother's small home was big and took everyone who came. It had too few rooms, too few staff and too many patients.

There's only so much they can do; the doctor tells him. Porthos feels like a little boy again, scared and lost. His mother looks so small and weak in the hospital bed. She's fading away, he knows that. Porthos has always been a fighter. It was how he grew up, how he survived, but he couldn't fight this.

He barely registers Flea's hand or her offer to get them something. He hardly notices Charon sit down beside him.

"There's a place in Normandy that might be able to help her." Charon's words rattle in his ears for a moment before he fully gets them.

"We won't be able to afford it." The reply is bitter in his mouth. As much as he wishes he could buy himself more, he hates he can't give his mother – the strongest, fiercest, kindest person he knows – this.

"Your dad – " Porthos cuts off the suggestion with a look. There's no way he's asking that man. Belgarde couldn't care less what happened to the proclaimed love of his life or his son. He'd use it to manipulate and control them. Besides the man was bankrupt anyway.

"I know someone." Porthos can only stare at his old friend. "He'll cover your mum's treatment."

"What's he want in return." People didn't just offer things like that.

"Few jobs done. Transport and haulage, things like that." Porthos frowned. "It'll be there so you'll be near her."

It was tempting. Porthos didn't remember a life outside Paris but if it meant helping his mum, he'd take it in a heartbeat. He wanted to tell Charon yes, but a stone in his gut stopped him. He knew better than to believe this good fortune at face value. The jobs sounded dodgy – drugs maybe. Porthos didn't want to be a part of that, he'd seen what a life like that could do to a person. So many people in the Court ended up caught in that trap. Drugs dragged you down and rarely let you go. But it might just be the one chance Marie-Cessette had. "I'll think about it. Talk to mum and the doctor. See what they say."

"Don't think too long," Charon warned. "You ain't got much time and neither does she."

 _Tell me something I don't know,_ Porthos thought.

* * *

The private apartments of the Bourbon estate were quieter than the main reception hall but no less spectacular. Athos eyed his surroundings along with the rest of his family. Catherine quietly evaluated the furnishings and the art. Thomas let out a low whistle and grinned. Anne ran a hand over a chair, a smile playing on her lips.

Anne Bourbon met them with a warm smile. Rochefort stood behind her; his own greeting far less welcoming.

"We're so glad you could come after that … incident at the gala. It would be terrible if it damaged a potential friendship." She glanced at her fiancé. "Wouldn't it Rochefort."

"Yes, yes."

It was not the most painful experience of Athos' life, but it was far from the most comfortable either. The food and drink were again excellent. It was the servants and the company. Anne Bourbon was an excellent conversationalist and a gracious hostess but even she could not compensate completely for her fiancé's rude coldness especially when combined with the d'Athos' lingering fury.

"Be careful, you idiot!" Catherine snapped at the waitress beside her. The girl had been pouring coffee and had not moved back fast enough when his sister-in-law stood up. Catherine snarled in the girl's direction as she inspected her blouse.

Anne calmly sipped her own cup. "Calm down Catherine, she did you a favour. That outfit should be a criminal offence."

Catherine glared at her. "I could have been severely scalded. Not that you'd care. You'd relish having me out of the picture."

Athos shifted uncomfortably and took another mouthful of coffee. Neither woman hid their feelings towards each other, even among outside company. There was little to be done. Thomas' attempts at mediation and diffusion rarely worked. Both women were too strong of character to need protection, nor to forego a chance to defend or attack in their own right.

Unlike everyone else, who had remained seated, Anne – the other Anne, their hostess – had hurried over instantly. Once assured that Catherine that not been injured, she politely but firmly requested the mess to be cleaned up. Athos noticed that she got the waitress out of the room quickly but not before quietly reassuring her.

Once the matter had been sorted an uncomfortable silence descended over the already stilted conversation.

"When is the wedding?" Thomas was the natural conversionist of the family. He'd always been far more social and out-going than his older brother.

"Oh, not until- "

"The end of the month." Athos didn't miss the shock that flashed across the younger Anne's face, quick as it was.

"That's very soon."

"We're in love. Why wait?" The simple statement sounded almost as a challenge to Athos ears. He had no right to judge. He had fallen in love and married his Anne almost immediately. But the way Rochefort caught her hand seemed more possessive than loving. The young woman was careful to keep her expression neutral but there was something that ghosted across her features. Athos felt the sudden need to protect her.

"Mademoiselle Bourbon has a gift for inspiring fondness it seems. Many would ensure that she is well and happy in her marriage." Rochefort's stare hardened. He had heard the warning. Athos hoped it would be successful.

Anne glanced over to him for only a moment, but Athos caught the gratitude in her gaze. He made a mental note to get in touch with Treville. The man should know what was going on. Athos suspected the older man would be very interested in knowing how Rochefort treated his wife.

The meal ended soon after and they said their goodbyes. Rochefort insisted on escorting them out. To ensure they actually left no doubt rather than any inclination of manners.

"Rochefort!" The man pushing past the man on duty at the gate was middle-aged but well built. He had the look of a man who made his living physically and out of doors rather than an office. His skin was slightly weathered but not worn and his good-natured face was twisted in determination. The man succeeded in getting past and strode towards Rochefort stopping just short of him. "I need to talk to you."

"Who are you?"

"Alexandre D'Artagnan from Lupiac in Gascony. You're killing us." The shift in Rochefort's demeanour was miniscule but Athos caught it. What surprised him was that Rochefort had reacted to Alexandre's name not the accusation.

"As you can see, I'm rather busy. You'll have to come back another time."

Alexandre wouldn't be so easily rejected though. He stood his ground. "I didn't come all this way just to be fobbed off. Your company is dumping illegally. You're polluting the rivers and the land. Half the livestock in Gascony has been poisoned, thanks to your lot. You may as well throw us out on the street with the way your desecrating our livelihood."

Rochefort turned away. "I'm not going to listen to a fanatical madman with no evidence."

"I have evidence. Plenty of it. Either you do something about it or we'll have no choice but to take legal action to make you."

Rochefort snarled. He looked about ready to strike Alexandre.

"Monsieur Rochefort is very concerned to hear this news and now that it has been brought to his attention, I'm sure he'll take every effort to resolve the matter. I know Mademoiselle Bourbon certainly will." Rochefort looked furious at the intrusion. Athos didn't know if he had known about the polluting beforehand, but it was obvious the man didn't care one way or the other. He was certain though that Anne Bourbon would.

"Indeed," Rochefort said through gritted teeth. "I have a meeting I need to attend now. But make an appointment with my secretary for this evening. I'll have had time to look into the matter and we can discuss it properly then."

"How do I know you won't cancel."

"My family and I are witnesses," Athos pointed out. "Monsieur Rochefort can hardly deny anything with us having seen and heard you inform him of your concerns."

Rochefort snapped a goodbye and stalked away. Athos held out his card to Alexandre. "In case he does try to deny it. If Bourbon Enterprises won't help, De la Fere Acquisitions will."

* * *

Rochefort fumed. _How dare Athos!_ The man could not stop interfering in Rochefort's business. He had put a stop to the musketeers and yet still they persisted in trying to challenge him. And this man D'Artagnan. It was not the D'Artagnan that Rochefort knew but it wasn't a coincidence. Not now. He needed to get rid of the man before the other D'Artagnan arrived to join his friends.

' _If Athos is so determined to get involved with other people's affairs he can get involved with his wife's._ '

"Mademoiselle de Gouvaille?" The woman paused, with a haughty look. Rochefort swallowed his real feelings, adopting a humble air. This woman was a pawn like so many others. Rochefort would deal with her when she no longer had a use. "Forgive me. I have some information about Madame D'Athos. Information that I don't believe Monsieur d'Athos is aware of." Her eyes lit up. Rochefort hid a grin. The animosity between the two women had been unmissable. She would do exactly as he wanted. "I think Madame d'Athos is not who she says she is. Her husband should know the truth, but I don't think he would believe me. As a beloved sister-in-law it would be better coming from you."

"Of course, Monsieur de Rochefort. Thank you so much for telling me. Can you give me more information? It's best I know the whole story, so I can decide how best to break the news to Oliver." He silently handed over the memory stick. That would take care of the de la Feres. Now for Madame Bonaciuex and the others.

* * *

"This is really good."

"No need to sound so surprised."

D'Artagnan had the good grace to look sheepish. "I just meant the quality of the work. I think this is better than when I bought."

Constance hmphed, not quite willing to let it go, not quite willing to take it up with him either. "I'm not surprised. It isn't very good quality. I'm surprised your clothes don't have more holes in them. I've never seen so much mud and wear and slices."

"Well thank you. Maybe I could buy you a coffee? You could recommend what type of clothes I should be wearing."

She nearly slapped him for that. She wanted to take him up on the offer more. Which was ridiculous she chided herself. She had far too much on, much more important things. D'Artagnan quietly waited for her to answer. _He was far too good-looking._ It was more than that though. D'Artagnan exuded adventure and freedom. Constance wouldn't be surprised to learn if he never really sat still, always wanting to do instead of think. D'Artagnan was looking for excitement. Something Constance could do a little with herself.

"You could do with the advice, if you bother to listen to it." One coffee couldn't hurt.

She shooed him out of the shop once they'd agreed the time and place. When the bell rang twenty minutes later, she was still thinking of D'Artagnan's smile.

Her own fixed into a rather forced one. The man in front of her was not smiling warmly. In fact, he wasn't smiling at all. The moment he laid his cold eyes on her, Constance felt uneasy. The man looked at her like she was an enemy. Or prey.

"Madame Bonacieux."

"It's Mademoiselle."

"Mademoiselle," he drawled the correction, like it meant nothing to him. It probably didn't. "I want to offer you a position as a counsellor at the Saint Germaine Académie." She took the papers he flung at her in confusion.

"There must be some mistake. I didn't apply for a position at this academy. I'm not even a counsellor."

"You were recommended."

"By who?"

"Does that matter?" the man said impatiently. "You'd be giving your opinion, telling people what to think and do, interfere- advising them how to solve their problems."

She didn't want to tell people what to do and think. And she certainly didn't want to work for someone who seemed to have such dislike for her and the position. "So, you're just offering me a job at your school? Out of the blue?"

"It's not my school, I'm merely extending the offer on their behalf. As I said you were recommended." _Thank God for small miracles._ Nobody deserved to have this man as a teacher.

"I'll have to think about it." She hurried on before he could say anything else. "Like I said it's out of the blue. And it'd mean moving to Lorraine."

"Accommodation will be provided. You'd have more money than you'd ever make _**here**_ ".

"It's not about the money," Constance snapped, not liking the way he'd dismissed their surroundings. It was Constance's work, Louise's business, her livelihood. He had no right to look down his nose at it just because he thought he was better. "I have family here, friends."

"Well tell them. And hurry. You start next week." He finally sensed her mood. "These students need help. They need someone to listen to them and advise them. A confidant. They need you."

 _Damn!_ The man could be manipulative, she gave him that. "I'll need a few days." She refused to budge. She wouldn't drop her entire life in Paris just because a strange man said so.

But from the man's demeanour she wouldn't have much choice.

* * *

D'Artagnan was still smiling when he made it back to the hotel room he shared with his father. He flashed a brighter one at Alexandre who was sitting on his bed.

"I can't go over the files with you tonight. I've got a date."

Alexandre just groaned. It was an odd reaction for him. Normally he'd tease D'Artagnan mercilessly. Alexandre reached out, suddenly lunging forward. Instinctively D'Artagnan caught him. It was then he saw the blood,

"Who did this to you? Dad!"

"Athos. F-find Athos."

* * *

_It's the moment of truth, and the moment to lie,  
The moment to live and the moment to die,  
The moment to fight, the moment to fight  
To fight, to fight, to fight!_

_To the right, To the left  
We will fight to the death!  
To the edge of the earth  
It's a brave new world  
It's a brave new world  
It's a brave new world!_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My question this time is: who do you think is the most underrated actor - not the best or your favourite but the one who doesn't get enough credit.  
> It's tough because Howard Charles definitely gets the least (show) love. I think we all agree he's fab as Porthos but he and the character always get the short-end of the stick - episodes instead of arcs, his love interests (despite being the most sensible i.e. not falling for married women, queens, murderers, rebels (at least not so dangerously and stupidly as his friends)) are all really interesting but don't last more than an episode, his stand-out moments are more down to Howard's ability than the writing and even his episodes are usually over-shadowed by other plots, storylines and key moments.  
> Treville is another who's badly neglected, even though Hugo Speer does wonderful work with what's essentially the same dramatic arc every season (keeping terrible secrets from his proteges) and has fantastic paternal chemistry with his younger co-stars.  
> I have to give the overall award though to Ryan Gage. Louis is a poor king, a weak man, a bad boss, a negliglectful and abusive husband (he might not physically manhandle Anne but he clearly verbally and emotionally abuses her and twice oking your wife's murder no matter what she's done is low - even if it is accidental) and an affectinate and well-meaing but a negligent and terrible father (yeah he loves the kid but leaves him with homicidial minders and a kingdom of unrest). Louis should be at best a one-note plot device character or comic relief. Ryan though brings great emotional depth to Louis and I find myself sympathising with him even when I know I shouldn't and I don't think he gets enough credit for that.  
> On the ladies I'm going to give it to Tamla Kari. Both she and Alexandra Dowling got nothing of real substance to work with in S3 but I don't think Constance got any kind of storyline of her own in S3 at all, she was just a bit player in everyone else's or the overall plot so she edges it.  
> As always let me know what you think. Do you agree? Disagree? Or do you think someone else should get more credit.


	5. So Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone still reading and reviewing, I hope you're enjoying it. 
> 
> Just a warning this chapter is seriously angsty and the start of the gang coming through some heavy trauma. Hence the song choice. I love this song and think it's heartbreakingly beautiful and poignant (rather like P!nk's What About Us, but that doesn't fit the show as well) and is it just me or is this song a perfect fit Queen Anne? Poor girl has been put through the ringer even before the show. Trauma and angst just follow her. Come to think of it the same can be said for Athos too. And Aramis. And Porthos. You know what this song could probably suit anyone of the cast (if anyone more talented than me want's to do a fanvid, you'll probably win by eternal love) and they all need big, big hugs.
> 
> Also there's implied domestic abuse, it's pretty subtle I think and nothing worse than what's in the show so just throwing that warning out, just in case anyway.

* * *

_Oh, when you told me you'd leave_   
_I felt like I couldn't breath_   
_My aching body fell to the floor_   
_Then I called you at home_   
_You said that you weren't alone_   
_I should've known better_   
_Now it hurts much more._   
_ohhh... Mmmm_   
_ohhh... Mmmm_   
_You caused my heart to bleed and_   
_You still owe me a reason_   
_Cause I can't figure out why..._   
_Why I'm alone and freezing_   
_While you're in the bed that she's in_   
_And I'm just left alone to cry._

_So Cold - Ben Cocks_

* * *

Anne was used to hiding her emotions, but that did not stop her having them. Nor did it stop her using them.

She did little to hide her anger as she swept through her fiancé's offices into his own personal study. He looked up in mild surprise and what could only generously be described as vague delight.

"Do you know anything about the accusation of pollution?"

"A farmer came by earlier making outlandish claims that we had poisoned his animals. Scare tactics for a payment no doubt." He dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand as well as his words.

"Why didn't you tell me? We need to investigate and ensure there hasn't been negligence on our part." The thought alone horrified her. Not only would it damage their reputation but what about the poor people and animals affected. How many would get sick or die. Families suffering as their livelihoods rotted, the land they loved now a danger to them.

"He never returned, and we can hardly placate every scam artist. Besides I've already dealt with it." The matter was already closed in his mind which amplified Anne's frustration.

"What did you say to Marguerite when you dismissed her? I haven't been able to contact her at all."

"You don't need to speak to her at all. What's done is done." Anne was too well-schooled in the subtlety and art of reading people to miss the warning in his tone. Still she could not just walk away.

"Why did you tell the d'Athoses that the wedding was so soon?"

The perplexed look he gave her only fed her simmering ire with his next words. "Because it is."

"Rochefort, we haven't even set a date yet, let alone discussed the actual wedding."

"I've already made the arrangements." She was so stunned; it took her a moment to find words.

"You didn't think I should have a say in it?!"

He stood up to move around his desk, towards her. "You were distracted. I only wanted to make things easier for you." The contrite tone soothed the highest flames of her anger but only left it simmering rather than truly extinguished.

"You still should have discussed it with me. It's still too soon for a _**wedding**_ , there's so much to do. I have to organise a dress, a veil, bridesmaids."

"Those can be easily sorted. Why should we wait any longer? Who would stand in the way? I've waited so long to marry you, to proclaim you as my wife, to consummate our love."

It was as if a stone had been dropped into a pool. A ripple of disquiet passed through her at the words. She sensed rather than felt his hands take hers. She had thought little about the honeymoon of her marriage. An act of deliberateness rather than negligence. The future consummation of her marriage was a thought that still left her uncomfortable. It was something entirely natural in a marriage after all. But if it had been her little experience that was the source of her distress it might have been understandable, but it wasn't. It was who she'd be consummating the marriage with that was the problem.

"Why are you so upset? Surely it is better to declare our love sooner rather than later? You do want that don't you." The pressure around her wrists tightened ever so imperceptivity. The ripples formed swells.

She smiled brightly. "Of course. I just want it to be perfect."

It worked in appeasing him. He relaxed and gave her what was almost a smile.

"It will be. It will be just the way we deserve."

Anne's smile remained even as her heartbeat frantically against her ribcage. The revelation was almost too great. Not only did she not trust her soon-to-be husband, she was afraid of him too.

* * *

Milady was on alert the second Catherine entered. The other woman was too smug and self-satisfied – she could feel the waves of it rolling off her across the room – compared to her usual sullen, vindictive demeanour.

Oliver and Thomas didn't seem to notice, or rather acted as though they didn't.

Milady pretended not to be affected by Catherine's stare from the other end of the table. She daintily dropped her napkin in front of her as the table was cleared.

"They should count the cutlery."

She frowned at the other woman's comment. So did the men. It was Thomas who voiced the confusion.

"I said they should count the cutlery, to make sure none of it has been stolen."

Milady snorted, "why? Are you in the habit of stealing hotel cutlery?"

"No, but you are." It came so quickly that it took her a moment to see the trap. Catherine smirked. "Actually, you're rather in the habit of stealing anything and everything."

"Catherine what are you saying? Anne is no thief." Her heart swelled with love as Olivier defended her.

"But her name isn't really Anne, is it?" _Damn those waiters._ She could have already killed her sister-in-law with her steak knife if she still had it.

"It's Milady de Winter. Or is it Clarrick? Charlotte Brackson? There seems to be so many in this police file."

Milady was frozen in her seat as Catherine brandished a file. Any attempts to dismiss it as fiction useless as the photos and official documents spilled across the table for all to see.

"What is this?" Oliver had never sounded so cold.

"Isn't it obvious, Olivier, she's been lying to you. Your precious wife is nothing more than a gold-digging con artist. A common criminal."

"Oh, shut up, you miserable bitch!" She stared at Oliver begging him to look at her, to understand. "I was scared. I didn't know you well enough at first, and then I didn't know how to."

"Didn't know how to part with the life of Madame De la Fere you mean."

_Catherine would know misery when she was through!_

But Catherine wasn't what was important now, Olivier was. Olivier whose eyes were locked on the pages of arrest records and charges, the photos.

"Olivier, please." She reached out but he pulled away before she could make contact. He walked out of the room without even acknowledging her.

* * *

Athos didn't even remember what pub he was in or what wine he was drinking. His mind was still back in that hotel room, looking at those photos. The shock on Thomas' face, Catherine's hard glare. Most of all he saw Anne's horrified features.

He was a damned idiot.

Athos had always considered himself a level-headed and rational man. He knew what kinds of people orbited his world. He had seen many of his acquaintances ensnared by priorities of a certain nature. He had always thought he would be sensible enough to escape.

Instead he'd fallen deeper into the trap than any of them. Anne – he still thought of her as Anne, when she clearly wasn't. What a fool he was – was much more than a simple ambitious social-climber. He'd read enough of the police reports in those few brief, unforgettable moments. _Theft, larceny, prostitution, homicide._

He desperately wanted another explanation, but Anne's reaction had verified what he would have otherwise vehemently denied, pictures be damned.

His phone buzzed with yet another message. He ignored it and sat even further back in the little snug. Solitude and anonymity were all he wanted right now. He was not so naïve as to think he could escape forever but he refused to face the matter _**now**_. Anne's bland excuses and Thomas' pity could wait.

" _I was scared. I didn't know how to."_ Was that the truth? Had Anne really just been scared. Desperate to protect their love and leave that life behind. Or was he still just a fool wanting to believe he was smarter than he was, wanting to believe it hadn't all been a lie.

His phone rang again. The unknown number – normally a reason to ignore it – was now the sole reason he answered it.

The news immediately knocked what inebriation he had, out of him, at the ashamedly welcome distraction. He quickly paid his bill and strode out into the busy Paris streets, never more grateful to do his duty.

* * *

His work rarely took him to hospitals. The red guards often ended up needing to avail of one's services. Sometimes a doctor might be ferried out to one of the estates for more discrete assistance, if required.

But never for him. He had enough medical knowledge to treat most of the injuries he encountered in his line of work. And for those he couldn't, well… nobody would care anyway.

His reason for being in the hospital was down in the depths of the basement, oh so fittingly the morgue. The dim, close environment perfectly reflected the mark's intelligence.

"Rochefort will get what he wants in due course, I'm busy. I can't just jump at his command."

Aramis stifled a sigh and barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Since the other man was born privileged, had attended a pretentious school and was supposedly destined for a glittering medical career he thought he was untouchable. He thought he could get away with anything. He thought he could cross Rochefort.

Aramis was to remind him otherwise.

That little thrill that came with danger and excitement flared up. The rush of adrenaline, risking his life. The only time he ever felt alive anymore.

Even three-on-one it was ridiculously easy. Neither the target or his friends had any proper ability and their technique was downright embarrassing. If they'd managed to land any hits in the drunken swings they'd practiced, he'd shave his head.

His foot met the mid-section of the stockiest one and sent him sprawling into some medical trays. The man stayed down too stunned to even sit up.

The mark swung at him. Aramis caught it, locking the arm behind its owners back. He pulled open the closest tray and slammed the mark onto it. The third tried to rush him while he was distracted. He pulled up short at the sight of Aramis' gun barrel in his face.

He'd been a good soldier for a reason. Fighting was something that had come easily to him. He was aware enough to accept that sometimes violence was needed. Orders were followed no matter where they lead. No matter how bloody they came.

He pressed the mark further into the morgue tray. The man struggled weakly. His eyes fixed wide on the body on the bay beside him. "I suggest you review your schedule and consider how busy you really are. Or my next visit will involve you having much more in common with that poor soul than just lying on these bays." He shoved him before releasing him to emphasis his point.

His gun was still in the tall one's face.

Aramis had killed before. Sometimes it was what was needed to be done. The mark needed to stay alive for now. His friends didn't. Two quick shots direct to the head. At this distance, it would be impossible for him to miss. They'd both be dead before they hit the floor. Rochefort would prefer they die.

But they didn't need to. Aramis gave them a wolfish grin as he holstered his gun. They'd be nursing the injuries he'd left for days at least. Even from the far end of the corridor he saw it. Injured, terrified animals.

The lift doors closed and took him up.

* * *

D'Artagnan barely noticed Constance's hand on his shoulder. All he could see was his father lying on the hospital bed. Tubes were connected to every part of him. From somewhere in the room, a machine beeped but he didn't look for it.

_Coma. Mass internal bleeding. Severe brain damage. Unknown if he'll ever wake up._ He understood the words but couldn't comprehend them. How could his father never wake up again? Why had this Athos beaten him so badly? What had his father ever done but be a good, kind, hard-working man.

The police had asked some questions but D'Artagnan had little hope. He would have to find some way to get justice himself.

"…d'Athos. I received a call…" The words filtered through D'Artagnan's mind and the world turned red.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Barely conscious, too weak to sit up and hopped up on drugs and his mom could still be intimidating. He was lucky to have this woman as his mother.

"Where else would I be."

She waited in expectation. Porthos sighed. Now was as good a time as ever.

"Charon heard about this clinic in Normandy, it might be able to help you."

"And how are we going to pay for it?"

"Charon knows a guy- "

"Absolutely not!" The words came remarkably strong for a dying woman. The stare she gave him was no less heated. "You are not putting yourself in debt. Especially not for me."

She cut him off before he could explain. "I don't care that he's your best friend. He's not a very good one. You're not taking up some strange man's offer and putting yourself in god knows what kind of position. And you're not putting yourself under compliment with Charon! He'd use it against you."

"Maman- "

"If that's the cost of getting better than I'm not going to that clinic. You want to help me, you make a proper life for yourself, a good one."

"Ok, Maman." He let her rest, trying to settle everything in his head.

"MURDERER!"

* * *

_Oh, you can't hear me cry_   
_See my dreams all die_   
_From where you standing_   
_On your own_   
_It's so quiet here and I feel so cold_   
_This house no longer_   
_Feels like home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still having computer problems so can't guarantee updates. However I will leave you with this question to ponder:
> 
> What is your favourite character/ dark counterpart (mortal enemy) relationship?
> 
> Aramis/ Rochefort was probably the one most developed and had the most tension. (Both respected, skilled soldiers who rose to powerful positions, both in love with Queen Anne but one acting out of love and loyalty, the other revenge and personal grievances.)
> 
> Treville/ Richelieu was an interesting take. Both loyal right-hand men and father figures to Louis. Both captains of their own regiments. And both having a competitive but begrudging respect and understanding of each other's positions. Especially with Richelieu being more pragmatic than the other antagonists and willing to work with our heroes and even see their uses and strengths.
> 
> Porthos/ Charon ended too soon. It would have been interesting if Charon had been a reoccurring villain and how Porthos dealt with being at odds with an old friend. Especially with them both wanting the same things (respect, money, glory, a better life) but making very different choices about choices to get there.
> 
> D'Artagnan/ Marcheaux was a wasted opportunity. Both were young stars in their respective regiments with a close relationship to a mentor/ superior. But they never quite developed beyond that apart from Marcheaux harassing Constance and them hating each other.
> 
> Athos/ Grimaud - I honestly never got this one. It felt like the show was trying to portray Grimaud as Athos ultimate foe/ demon but I never got why Athos seemed to particularly hate him (sure he'd want him dead but up until Grimaud kills Treville and threatens Sylvie there's no reason for Athos' hell-bent fixation) or why Grimaud seemed to have a particular grudge against Athos when both Porthos and Aramis had interfered in his plans as well. Essentially the two stared at each across a smoky, impossible to see post-battle field and somehow became mortal enemies because of it.
> 
> For the ladies, I'm not sure they had any? Marie de Medici for Anne, I suppose. I think Constance and Milady were meant to start out as these but they grew out of the roles to quickly to really fit.
> 
> Anyone else have any thoughts? Do you agree? Disagree? Or do you think there are other counterparts that are better?


	6. Seven Nation Army

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for everyone reading, reviewing, and leaving kudos. It means a lot.
> 
> Also I hope everyone is keeping well and safe throughout the current global situation. Hopefully this will give you all some distraction. The boys finally meet.

* * *

_I'm gonna fight 'em off  
A seven nation army couldn't hold me back  
They're gonna rip it off  
Taking their time right behind my back  
And I'm talkin' to myself at night  
Because I can't forget  
Back and forth through my mind  
Behind a cigarette_

_And the message comin' from my eyes says, "Leave it alone"_

_Don't wanna hear about it  
Every single one's got a story to tell  
Everyone knows about it  
From the Queen of England to the hounds of hell  
And if I catch it comin' back my way  
I'm gonna serve it to you  
And that ain't what you want to hear  
But that's what I'll do_

_And the feeling coming from my bones says, "Find a home"_

_Seven Nation Army – White Stripes_

* * *

The yell echoed through the hall. Athos glanced up just in time to see the youth charging him. He stepped aside. It wasn't enough to completely dodge, but it meant receiving only a glancing blow and staying on his feet. The lad glared and lunged at him again. Athos was ready this time and blocked the swing.

He'd had his share of fights. His father had thought it wise that his sons know some boxing – Queensbury rules of course – and he'd engaged in playful – and sometimes less playful – bouts with Thomas and their schoolmates.

The boy was not unskilled, but his emotions made him reckless. Athos could easily predict his moves and react accordingly. In fact, it felt oddly familiar, almost like déjà vu if he'd been prone to such concepts.

"Are you lost?" The man who interjected used the boy's momentum against him to spin him away from Athos. "This is a hospital, not a prize fighting ring." His tone was light as if torn between genuine amusement and feigned disapproval.

"He's a murderer!"

Athos ignored the newcomer's measured sweep of him, focusing on the youth in his hold. "I'd remember killing someone and I don't. You've mistaken me for someone else."

"Liar! My father is in a coma because of you!"

The other man jerked his stare back to the lad. "Then your father is still alive, so he can't have murdered him. Not yet at least, assaulted maybe." The man's hold was as light as his chastisement apparently as the boy broke free, charging for Athos once again.

"Attacker would fit better."

Athos ignored the man as he side-stepped, catching the youth himself this time. "I'm sorry about your father but I'm not responsible. Don't make me hurt you over a mistake."

The young man struggled, not listening. "Then why did he name you!"

Athos had no idea why anyone would accuse him of such a thing, but the lad wouldn't listen. "Liar!" He slipped free and grabbed a mop, swinging at Athos. The stranger had turned his attention to the approaching nurses and orderlies, insisting they didn't need to be concerned.

He had no choice but to grab a brush to defend himself. He mentally rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the situation.

Despite the unwieldly length the boy had some skill in using in it. Athos begrudgingly found himself respecting the lad. But after the day's events Athos wasn't in the mood to entertain his antics.

The other man wasn't helping much either, having decided to become a casual spectator. "Are you planning on actually stopping anytime soon. The head nurse is less than happy and even my charm can't ease her mind."

The lad snarled in answer. "It's not my choice," Athos pointed out as the lad came at him again. This time the observer did step in, literally, between them.

"Alright, that's enough. He said there was a mistake." Now Athos could actually focus on the third man, and he noticed the small details he hadn't been able to focus on earlier. His tone was still friendly, but it held an edge and his stance was ramrod straight. One hand rested on the youth's chest in warning, the other was casually curled under the hem of his jacket. Athos was sure he was armed.

He paused in consideration. The man hadn't pulled any weapon yet and didn't seem inclined to do so, but things were in danger of escalating. He suspected from the man's bearing and the way his eyes constantly swept the area, unpredictable situations such as this weren't unusual for him.

Oddly despite being the calmest of the three of them, Athos sensed the man was the greatest threat and not just because of the potential weapon. He reminded Athos of a coiled spring, potential energy to kinetic force without warning. It worried Athos and not in the way he thought it should.

The boy was too worked up to notice the warning. He shoved them both. "Fine! I'll fight the both of you!"

"The three of us." The newcomer wrapped an arm around the youngest, knocking him off balance. The soldier swept out a leg, taking his feet out from under him. Athos moved in close, pressing his shoulder back.

The newcomer used the extra help to lift the lad off the ground, effectively rendering him immobile. He struggled but unable to get leverage it was useless. The big man sighed, "for goodness sake. Use your head."

"Is three on one fair!" The newly arrived red-haired young woman was stalking towards them, disproval clear.

Since the other two had the lad secure, Athos stepped back. "We weren't going to hurt him."

His temporary helpers exchanged looks.

"We weren't?"

"Next time let us know."

Athos ignored them. Both men were clearly strong enough and skilled enough to have hurt either the youth or Athos himself if they wished. Their intention had been the same as his own, secure the boy before he hurt himself or someone else. He was sure of it.

The lad pulled himself free, but the fight seemed to have gone out of him. "I don't need a girl to protect me."

The girl gave a highly impressive glare at them all. "Well you need someone to, if only from yourself. Why is it men always decide to solve their problems with violence? If they'd only think first, there'd be more of them left, and less hospitals needed."

The soldier smirked. "Him I'm not sure about, her I like."

Athos appreciated the sentiment, but they needed to focus. Now that he had time to look at the big man, he recognised him as the guest Rocheforte's men had been manhandling when he interfered. He nodded his thanks. The other man returned the gesture, his expression verifying that he had recognised Athos as well. That explained the help and yet Athos wondered if the man had just now felt the same unnameable instinct to help the way he had that night, if that that been what had truly driven him to interfere.

He pushed the thought away; they didn't need anymore distractions. "My name is Oliver d'Athos. And you are?"

"Charles D'Artagnan from Lupiac in Gascony."

"Porthos Du Vallon."

"Constance Bonacieux."

The lack of a fourth reply revealed the soldier's departure. That wasn't important right now. Athos focussed on the one bit that might make sense of all this.

"I met an Alexandre D'Artagnan earlier today."

"And then you beat half to death." The boy's attack became all the clearer.

"No. He wanted a meeting with an acquaintance of mine. It was to do with pollution, if I recall. I gave him my card as an offer to help."

"If you didn't hurt him, who did?"

A picture of Rocheforte emerged in his mind. He ignored the dark-haired beauty that flashed for a moment.

"I need to talk to someone." He studied the trio in front of him. He didn't know why he said what he did next, but he knew it was necessary. It was **right**. "I think you should come with me."

* * *

Treville resisted the urge to run a hand over his face. He felt so very tired at that moment. And on edge. When Athos had called, requesting an immediate meeting, he'd suggested his office out of habit.

His few personal possessions sat in a box on the desk. Treville had abandoned the task of clearing out his office in the wake of Athos' arrival and story.

Now the younger man sat in front of him, stoically staring back. The young woman, Constance, sat in the adjacent seat. Her eyes tracking the pacing young man. Once again Treville's glance flitted to Porthos. He'd nearly frozen at the sight of the big man. It was still like seeing a ghost. There was something so familiar about the young man too, about all of them. He had already decided to help them before any of them said a word.

"I can't say one way or the other, but challenging Rocheforte usually isn't a good idea." He had no proof of Rocheforte's guilt, but he fully agreed with Athos' suspicions regarding Alexandre D'Artagnan's attack.

"I'll kill him!" the boy swore. Treville studied him. He was certainly athletic and the way he moved was an asset, but his emotions controlled him. That could lead to mistakes.

"Then you would be the one in jail. If you want justice for your father, we need evidence," Athos said evenly. He too was watching D'Artagnan, assessing his mindset and capability.

"We need to stop his influence", Constance pointed out. "Otherwise he's just going to get away with it and those that need help will be even worse off.".

"There's all sorts of rumours about his red guards," Porthos said. "Smuggling and stuff. There has to be somewhere they're keeping that."

"Where does he keep his records" Athos asked?

"We'll never get near his office." Treville thought for a moment. There was one possibility. "Rochefort has a premises not far from the Bourbon estate. It wasn't used for any of the businesses, but his own private use. He holds meetings there. There's always a guard present on the perimeter but no one's allowed near it."

Athos nodded. D'Artagnan abruptly halted his pacing and listened. Porthos gave a grim smile and cracked his knuckles.

Treville felt his shoulders set as the unease he had felt so long, turned to purpose. He would help guide these young men, and together they would stop Rocheforte.

* * *

Rocheforte surveyed the men in front of him. "Do you understand what you're to do?" They all nodded.

He strolled through them, reading them. He stopped in front of The Cardinal. The man's gaze flickered before immediately fixing back in front. Rocheforte forced himself not to react at the disobedience. The man would soon pay. "No matter what it takes. I don't care if you have to leave your position and literally stab them in the back with a pocketknife. These thieves are to be apprehended. Dead or alive."

"They will. You have my word." Like he cared about that.

He dismissed them all but his own second. The man stood unwavering in front of him. "If the Cardinal and the Red Guards don't stop them, they'll go straight for any documents they can find."

"They won't sir."

"But they might." The musketeers – Treville's favourite pets above all else – had proven annoyingly meddlesome. But Rocheforte had already anticipated that. Their interference had become predictable. Rocheforte wouldn't make the same mistake again. "And I've prepared for that inevitability. Just make sure the Cardinal keeps them in position. Anything they do find; they won't ever be able to use."

* * *

Rene stared down his rifle scope. Perched on a roof adjacent to Rocheforte's building he had a perfect line of sight. He could see the men's outlines as they cautiously approached the edge of the property. He gave them the credit they were due. They were smart. They stayed behind cover and they took care of the guards quickly and quietly.

So far, he hadn't been able to get a clean shot. He was almost glad. Treville wasn't a man who should have a traitor's death. His heart clenched. His mind couldn't reconcile the men from the hospital as the ruthless enemies he was assigned to stop.

And stop them he would. Sooner or later they'd have to break cover to make it to the building itself. Rene had his orders.

He focused his rifle once more, pushing the emotion and thoughts away. If those men really were smart, they'd give up and go home now. They wouldn't get what they wanted tonight. Rocheforte was too many steps ahead of them.

The commotion around registered distantly in his mind. His sniper's senses identifying, analysing and discarding everything around him as quickly as it happened. The shouts of the red guards. Two of them hurrying out a side door. Their commander's order to fall back.

The men sprinted forward. They were at the edge of the trees now. The big one was crouched by a rock, measuring the distance. Rene trained his barrel. _'"No matter what it takes."'_

* * *

Athos scanned the area around them, thinking through potential options. The short stone wall was adequate protection for the moment if he stayed low.

D'Artagnan's distraction had managed to lead a few guards away. Athos could just make out his and Treville's silhouettes on the other side of the lawn. Porthos was crouched a few yards away. The other man caught his eye and grinned. Athos' reply came in the form of a look that just made him grin wider. The shouts of the red guards whipped through the air. They weren't completely incompetent, but they had numbers of three men to every one of theirs and it hadn't done them much good, given the half-dozen unconscious, injured and temporarily incapacitated bodies scattered throughout the grounds. Though he and the others had made use of surprise and concealment.

The guard in charge gave a shout. His men rushed into a new formation, directly covering the front. Athos threw his gaze towards Treville and D'Artagnan, relieved to note they both had adequate cover, if only momentarily.

Porthos caught his eye again, his grin even bigger. The tall man gestured with his head. Athos looked. An almost hidden door was set in the side wall. Athos caught onto the plan at once.

He frowned as Porthos made his way towards it. The new positions of the guards had created a wall at the front and far side of the house, leaving the other side unprotected. Had they really forgotten about it?

A shadow on the roof caught Athos' attention. His heart froze as he registered the sniper. What tactical planning he had kicked in. In their respective positions the sniper couldn't get a clean shot. But Porthos would have to break cover the final few yards to reach the door.

He stared at the figure on the roof again. Athos had only copped him because he had betrayed his position. He was too far away to worry about being hit, nobody on the ground had that kind of firepower. So why hide? And then why break position?

In his peripheral he saw D'Artagnan use the guards' distraction to skirt towards Porthos.

He locked stares with the potential bringer of death. Even across the distance, Athos could sense confusion. The other man's not his, he was surprised to realise. The man had moved out of position when the guards had. Only he hadn't taken up a new one. Even now the shadowy weapon in his grip was ready but not properly aimed. He hadn't moved out of boredom or bad discipline but to better analyse the area. Except he wouldn't need to move to get a better shot, just remain patient.

He hadn't moved to see _**them**_ ; he'd moved to see his own comrades. He hadn't expected them to move.

Why had they? The captain couldn't be so poorly trained. He wouldn't survive working for a man like Rocheforte for long, if he… Athos' eyes widened. The rifle moved ever so slightly.

It was as if time had slowed down. He stood instantly, the instinct to protect drowning out all self-preservation. "PORTHOS!"

The other man froze and turned, only feet from the house. Athos turned back towards the sniper, thousands of silent messages, words, threats, warnings, and understandings. A phantom blade traced his neck as promising dark eyes ghosted in front of him.

His shoulder exploded in pain as his vision went white and then red as the world went on fire.

* * *

_I'm going to Wichita  
Far from this opera for evermore  
I'm gonna work the straw  
Make the sweat drip out of every pore  
And I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding  
Right before the Lord  
All the words are gonna bleed from me  
And I will think no more_

_And the stains comin' from my blood tell me, "Go back home"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope you enjoyed that. Next up they'll be putting more of the pieces together.
> 
> As always I leave you with a question (thanks to everyone who's answered so far they've been really enjoyable to read and get other viewpoints):  
> If you had to pick a different opening credits which would it be? I was a huge Buffy fan when I was younger and I think but it's opening and sister show Angel's would suit our beloved heroes very well. What about the rest of you? Any show openings you think would suit? Let me know.


	7. Bring Me To Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this chapter is far later than planned. The rest of the story is written and I'm hoping to post at least one chapter per week between now and the end. (By all means remind me if I don't). Happy Easter to everyone, as a present I'm posting this chapter which involves a sort-of reunion. 
> 
> Part of the reason for the delay was I couldn't decide on the song for this chapter. Possibilities included: Glitter and Gold by Barns Courtney, Radioactive by the Imagine Dragons and The Fugees Ready Or Not, all of which have great Musketeers fan vid. The chosen song doesn't have a Musketeers fanvid but I think it suits the chapter and the head space of some of the gang.

* * *

_How can you see into my eyes like open doors?_   
_Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb_   
_Without a soul my spirit's sleeping somewhere cold_   
_Until you find it there and lead it back home_

_(Wake me up)_   
_Wake me up inside_   
_(I can't wake up)_   
_Wake me up inside_   
_(Save me)_   
_Call my name and save me from the dark_   
_(Wake me up)_   
_Bid my blood to run_   
_(I can't wake up)_   
_Before I come undone_   
_(Save me)_   
_Save me from the nothing I've become_

_Bring Me To Life -_ Evanescence

* * *

"How exactly did this happen?" That was what D'Artagnan wanted to know. He watched worriedly as Constance helped her doctor friend examine Athos' shoulder.

The irony whispered in his mind like a disembodied voice. If D'Artagnan stopped to think about it, he would agree it was odd. Earlier that day he had attacked Athos wanting to kill him and now he was trying to save his life and scared that someone might succeed where he failed.

But D'Artagnan was more a man of action and instinct than a cerebral thinker or philosopher. He didn't stop and consider his change of heart. All he knew was that seeing Athos flung back like that had horrified him more than he thought possible.

"I was shot."

Constance didn't appreciate Athos succinct explanation. "We can see that! We want to know how you were stupid enough to let it happen!? At the hospital it seemed like you, at least, had sense, but you're as bad as the rest of them."

A fleeting look of amusement was gone from the injured man's face before D'Artagnan could be sure it was there. It had been though. There was a comforting familiarity to Constance's fussing and scolding. He was sure the others felt it too. The fact that she was even more attractive angry was a pleasant bonus.

"You are very lucky. The bullet went straight through and missed the bone and main nerves. You should make a full recovery." Lemay announced to their relief.

"I'm not sure luck had much to do with it," Athos commented thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" D'Artagnan asked. "The sniper was a bad shot?"

"Or an excellent one," Athos countered. "I was standing up, no cover. I couldn't have been an easier target. And yet I escape with only the minimal damage possible."

"True," Porthos agreed. "Even though I doubt most of those red guards could hit the broad side of a barn door, it would have been easier to kill you than make that shot."

"So, it was luck," D'Artagnan reasoned.

Treville, who had been silent since their arrival at Constance's, spoke now. "The Cardinal."

D'Artagnan felt a frisson of shock run down his spine. Porthos, too, looked spooked at the moniker. Athos' eyes and lips tightened but whether it was because of the reference or the stitches Lemay was inserting, D'Artagnan couldn't tell.

"The clergy shot Athos?" Constance was more confused than worried.

"The Cardinal is a nickname. I don't know his real one. He works for Rochefort."

"He's a red guard?"

"No. He's too good for a start." Treville frowned, obviously running the matter over in his mind. "He does… well I'm not sure what exactly it is he does for Rochefort but at least some of it is as a sniper. I've seen him shoot once. I've never seen anyone better."

"If he works for Rochefort why he'd not kill Athos then?" Porthos asked out loud the question D'Artagnan had been thinking.

Treville shook his head, as mystified as they were.

"I think he was trying to warn me, warn us." Athos shifted, looking uncomfortable for the first time. His features twisted to imitate D'Artagnan's own confused. "I can't quite explain. And, yes, I'm aware it sounds absurd. I think he realised the danger the same time I did."

"So, he was trying to stop you warning us?"

"Rather the opposite, I believe."

Porthos features shifted, his posture going rigid. D'Artagnan watched the silent conversation between the big man and the wounded one in frustrated bewilderment. The scene rerunning in his mind. It didn't make any sense.

He had been moving to follow Porthos through that door. Athos had been standing up, shouting something indistinguishable over the din. He had just started to move towards them when he'd been hit.

D'Artagnan remembered freezing in his tracks as Athos had been thrown back by the bullet's force. He hadn't thought twice in giving up his original goal of the door and racing to Athos. Porthos had been right behind him. Athos was still in the line of fire. They couldn't let the sniper get a second chance.

They'd only gotten half-way – mere half seconds – when the explosion had ripped through the air, throwing him and Porthos off their feet and unexpectedly closer to their new destination.

They'd used the distraction of the smoke and the flames to pull Athos back and disguise their retreat. The files were gone anyway, destroyed in the blast and the three men nearly with them. The sniper needn't have bothered.

His eyes widened at the realisation. His clothes still smouldered, his eyes still watered, and his ears still rang. Some of his skin had been singed smooth, if they had been any closer, they wouldn't have survived.

Porthos nodded to him in confirmation.

"I have an old army friend who might be able to help." Treville stood up to leave. "I'm not letting Rochefort do any more damage."

* * *

The anger and annoyance that had been ebbing for the last few days was threatening to quickly become a tidal wave.

 _How could Rocheforte not tell her!_ The Gascony allegation was only the first it seemed. Rochefort had made many decisions without consulting her. Ones like shutting down community centres and subsidised clinics because they weren't profitable, buying up homes and forcing people out of them. Allowing the red guards to intimidate and manipulate people in a corrupt pretence of keeping peace and order. Several of their competitors had suffered misfortunes in recent times. All of varying kinds but Bourbon Enterprises had always benefitted. It was too much of a coincidence to ignore.

Louis may have left Rochefort a key role in the business, but it was not how Anne wanted to do business.

He wasn't in his office.

Her frustration and fury were at an all-time high now. Without thinking she started scanning the folders on his shelf. Normally she would never have dreamed of invading someone's privacy so blatantly and deliberately but Rochefort told her nothing and she had a right to know. It was her business too.

She found the door by accident. The wood so seamlessly fitted against the wall making it nearly impossible to see. It was heavy but not stiff.

The thick stone walls were only just discernible in the faint flickering light. Anne absently realised she was in the old mausoleum vault. It had been converted into a sort of storage place.

Drapes of some kind hung in the little space. Anne followed the flickering light through a doorway. And stopped short.

Pictures covered every surface of the far end. Pictures of her. The large portrait in the centre of the wall drew the eye first. It was old. Centuries even. The woman in the picture wore hair and clothes that Anne had never seen before in real life, but the woman's face could be her own. One picture on the mantle was of a group of people in uniform. It had been ripped and torn. The only black and white image still undistorted were her own.

She picked up another picture, faded and old as it was, her likeness was unmistakeable, but the figure beside her, almost hidden by the frame. Anne flipped the frame over in her hands. The photo was frayed, and Anne took care as she unfolded it. Constance's rebellious locks and warm, adventurous smile appeared beside her own image. And her friend was not the only face she recognised.

How could this be. They were all so different. Some were paintings, some were photographs. One was a sculpture of some kind. They were all of different ages, different times but the one thing they had in common was her.

She recognised none but there was something so familiar about them, even the one she still held.

Her eyes drifted to the ground and the dark reddish-brown stain on the floor.

She gasped as she was pulled suddenly, her back pressed against something hard. A knife blade rested against her throat.

"Do it. Kill me. I'd rather be dead than his!" The challenge was out before she'd thought but she meant every word she realised. Death here and now in this dark chamber, by this stranger's knife was a lot more palpable than the thought of being Rochefort's wife. She stared back at the man; the challenge clear in her face.

The pressure of the blade lightened. The man's hand found her crucifix. Anne's own reached out on instinct. Brown eyes locked with her blue in confusion. She'd never seen this man before and yet there was something so familiar about him. The man seemed to sense it too. He was still cradling her pendant as if it was **_his_** treasured childhood heirloom.

It hadn't escaped her notice that for a guard who'd found her trespassing and had pulled a weapon on her, he had been surprisingly gentle. The suddenness of the wall had done more damage than the wall itself and the knife never so much as pricked her. It was odd and both astonished her and didn't.

The man stepped back, carefully releasing the crucifix so that it swayed gently, instead of swinging violently back, to rest against her chest. His gaze darted to the rows of pictures. His expression tightened into something else.

"I'm sensing a theme."

Whether it was the words or the blasé tone, Anne wasn't sure, but they re-lit her fury. She pushed past the man, ignoring the fact that he let her, and glared at him. She didn't want anything to do with this. He would not do as this collector had done and twist her into his own fantasy. She shoved the delicate photo into his face. "You tell me."

Anne felt a wave of satisfaction as he stared at the picture -and their images - in bewilderment. "How? …Do you know about any of this?"

A shake of her head was her only reply. She dodged the outstretched hand. The man was scrutinising the wall now, the tension rolling off him in waves. His eyes darted to her for a moment. Gone was the amused playfulness. He was all seriousness now. She fixed her gaze away as best she could. The well of angry, petrified tears made it difficult to focus.

She followed his scrutiny of the floor, no longer able to withhold the question. "Is that blood?" He didn't reply but the look he gave her was enough to confirm her suspicions.

"You need to get out of here." She followed him towards the entrance, not wanting to stay any longer.

They both started as voices suddenly echoed and footsteps bounced around them. Once more Anne found her back against a wall. She held her breathe as the guards came closer, her eyes darted back at the half-hidden shrine. They were hidden – barely. If the guards glanced inside…

The man was pressed against her, his stare at the entrance. The knife was still in his hand, ready to use.

The sounds grew louder, closer, if they were caught here… If _Rochefort_ discovered her here… The very thought made her tremble. The man pressed her closer to the shadows putting himself between her and anything else. He glanced at her reassuringly. Anne didn't dare do more than squeeze his fingers in acknowledgement. As strange as it was, she trusted him.

The footsteps drifted away, and the voices faded. But Anne still couldn't feel relief even as he led her out of the vault and into the gardens by Rochefort's wing. Anne pulled away as soon as they reached the outside air, back pressed against a stone pillar, her breathing coming in shallow, rapid bursts. The tears she had fought against now spilling over. The man tried to calm her. Anne distantly heard his voice, but she couldn't comprehend what he was saying. Her mind reeled from the discovery. Rochefort. The shrine. The blood.

Those pictures… All this time… Marguerite… And her fiancé was responsible…

"It's ok. You're alright. I've got you." Whether it was the words or the tone, they managed to cut through her building hysteria and anchor her to the present.

She stared at him in shock. He didn't look annoyed or angry, just concerned _**for her**_. No one had ever looked at her like that before.

They were standing beside the vault in Rochefort's wing, she realised absently. Now she knew what it was. She felt she might be sick.

"He killed Marguerite." She didn't know if the blood was the other woman's or not, but she knew it was true.

"I'm sorry. But we can't stay here, it isn't safe for you here. Is there somewhere you can go? Somewhere Rochefort doesn't know about." He was Rochefort's man. She shouldn't trust him, but she did. Those warm, sympathetic dark eyes made her feel safe.

"I have a friend." Constance would help her. She paused as a thought occurred to her. "Treville needs to know." Treville she could trust too. Treville who was the very first and probably only true friend she had in her world that was now shattered from what it was and could never be again.

The man hesitated before nodding in agreement. "I'll make sure he does."

"Thank you." She meant it. This stranger was risking his life for her. He had to know that Rochefort would kill him if he found out he'd helped her escape from him. Anne was putting her life in his hands and those of whatever friends hey had.

* * *

Porthos was exhausted physically and mentally. He paused at the sight of Flea and Charon before heading straight for his drink.

They both watched him silently. Flea gave him a look, an unspoken question. Porthos shook his head. The sympathetic looks were appreciated but they didn't really help.

Charon sighed. "Porthos, I need an answer. If I say- "

"It's no." The words cut Charon off and his friend stared in a confusion, Charon never had.

"This could save her."

"She doesn't want to leave Paris."

"Make her!" Porthos narrowed his eyes. Even Flea was taken back at Charon's aggressiveness.

"This could help her. Help you both!"

"Paris is her home. I'm not going to force her to leave it. Not now."

"Why not. This could help you! If she thinks living _**here**_ is home, she's too sick to make the choice anyway."

"Why are you pushing this." He barely heard Flea's protections as the tug unrolled itself in his brain. "How much is Rochefort paying you to get me out of Paris."

Charon fell quiet, glaring darkly. Flea looking back and forth in horrified shock. Porthos knew he was right.

"You sold me out!" He felt furious. Charon was supposed to be his friend instead he'd set him up.

"I was tortured, what was I supposed to do?"

"Come to me!" Porthos snapped furiously. "You should have told me, and I'd have helped you."

"The same way you helped me that night," Charon retorted coldly. "The same way you helped me when you abandoned us for your new friends!"

"I'd have come for you if I'd known," Porthos replied. The anger had burned away to hurt now. "I have other friends now, but you still could have come to me."

"Like your new friends would have done."

"They would have! Because they know I'd do the same for them. They're honest and loyal and honourable and they wouldn't have manipulated me or try to use my mother against me like you did."

"Lucky you have them so," Charon said bitterly.

"You could have left with me. You could have done the same thing I did."

Charon glared in frustration. "You should have taken the offer and left. We'd all have better lives."

"Built on lies and the pain of others," Porthos pointed out. "You mightn't know everything Rochefort's done, but you knew enough." Charon wasn't stupid. You needed to be a decent judge of character to survive the court. Charon mightn't have known what Rochefort had done, what he planned to do, but he could guess well enough and he hadn't cared. Their friendship was over.

"I wanted her," Charon snapped, gesturing at Flea forcefully. "And with you gone I would have! And money, a chance for a better life. And so would you Porthos! Who cares what Rochefort does? We wouldn't be here to care about it."

Flea stared at him horrified. "This is our home! Porthos is our friend. And you traded them for nothing."

"I traded them for money and you!"

"I don't care about the money," Flea responded fiercely. "And I don't belong to you."

"Enjoy your new life," Porthos bit out as he left, the last time he'd ever see his former friend.

* * *

The suite was mercifully empty when he arrived. He'd attempted to ensure it but couldn't confirm until now. Athos quickly stripped off the damaged items of clothing. A quick wash and change, he threw what he needed into a bag and was ready to go.

He froze as the door opened by itself. Anne appeared on the other side as surprised as he was. Anne recovered first, her eyes darting to his sling. "What happened?"

"I don't have time for this." It was the truth. He was due to meet the others again soon, with the information Treville had acquired on their mysterious marksman. They needed to find him and soon and try to figure out what was happening.

Anne blocked his path. "We need to talk, please Olivier, let me explain."

"It's Athos and I have nothing to say to you." He might never be able to talk to her again. He had thought he'd married an honest, trustworthy woman who had loved him for him. How ridiculous. He pushed the self-disgust away. Now was not the time. Now his friends needed his help.

* * *

'" _I intend to keep my wife safe.'"_ The words battered around in his head. _Isabel._ It was one of his greatest regrets.

The nuns passed by him as they quietly moved for confession. He made no move to join them. His sins – and he freely confessed and acknowledged them – were beyond atonement. Discretely he stole another glance at the nuns. They were always welcoming, willing to help even sinners like him. At least Isabel had been happy during her time with them. Happier than she had been with _**him.**_ Hopefully she was happy now, with their child. With his fallen brothers. With all the others he had failed.

He hoped Marsac was happy, wherever he was.

He felt Fr De Salle's eyes on him, but Rene made no move towards the confessional. Even the power of its seal was not enough.

He had no illusions. He needed to pay for his sins. For his crimes. He came to the small church when he could, and he prayed. God had no reason to save him, but he hoped God would help those he prayed for. The family that he only disappointed. The brothers in arms that he only comforted rather than saved. The people for whom he tried to limit the destruction of their lives, but never seemed to be able to prevent it.

Once he had searched for God's way. His skill with a rifle and as a medic had made the path seem clear.

He knew the contradiction in his life. He had never stopped searching for the true meaning, but it felt right, like he was doing as he was meant to. And then Isabel had lost their baby and left. Twenty of his brothers lost in Savoy. All because of him. Instead of bringing help, he brought destruction.

Where once he had felt assurance and comfort, now he felt nothing but sorrow and doubt. And only on the rare moments he felt anything but the conflicted numbness.

He was not a virtuous son of God but the Devil's instrument.

Maybe working for Rochefort, helping in France's prosperity and stability was God's way of ensuring that he did some good in his wasteful life.

To this day he couldn't recall how he'd ended up as one of Rochefort's employees. His mind had been too muddled, too damaged. He'd never understand why Rochefort had taken pity on him, but he owed the man, had sworn an oath. One that he had broken.

He still did not know why he had pulled his shot. Treville's acquaintances should have died. They were thieves, they willingly fought the red guard, actively declared war against Rocheforte.

He should have put the bullet directly between the man's eyes. Better yet he should have let the man follow his accomplices to die with them. But he hadn't.

The moment he had realised the trap, the moment his dark eyes had locked with pale blue, his instinct had been to protect. Not for himself at the edge of the blast site, no he'd almost been compelled to throw himself off the roof to block them, to shield a brother. But that wouldn't have worked. Not for all of them, not in time. He'd never be able to reach the tallest one in time; he was too far away.

For the first time in years an instinct and certainty had washed through him. He knew his own skill with his weapon, didn't require even a second thought. It was the certainty, the confidence that their concern for their friend would override their mission that he had banked on. And it had worked.

The same instinct to save had kicked in for Anne Bourbon too.

There was plenty of gossip about her, good and bad. The only thing anyone agreed on was that she was beautiful (true), and that equally marked her as Madonna or Magdalene. As far as he could tell her greatest crimes were being Spanish-born and not of Bourbon blood. There were far greater crimes than being Spanish, Rene knew.

She was a fantasy. A representation of whatever anyone wanted her to be. He'd indulged in it once or twice. Earning his redemption as knight to a good queen.

And Anne Bourbon was a good woman. Rene was sure of that even though he'd never spoken one word to her.

But it hadn't been a fairy-tale queen he'd held a dagger to but a scared young woman desperately trying to hide her fear and barely holding herself together in the face of unimaginative circumstances. In that instant he'd sworn an oath to himself to protect her.

Against the man who had given him a second chance.

Rene had a choice to make and a vow to keep.

* * *

Charon's betrayal still stung. It would for a while but Porthos ignored the pain. He looked at the other two men. D'Artagnan shot him a quick tense grin. The lad was all restless energy. Athos only looked at him. Military assessment but there was concern and a promise there too.

He'd known them days, but he already trusted them more than he had Charon in all their years of friendship.

Treville gave them a quick nod in greeting as he put a file on the desk and flipped it open. D'Artagnan finally stilled. The photo on top caught all their attention.

The face was even younger than D'Artagnan, a baby-faced teenager. If he'd been in the Court, he'd have either been beaten and bullied every day, or under the protection of half the big players (and all the females). A roguish smile graced the lower face and the eyes held barely half-concealed promises of mischief. Even in army uniform a warm and engaging charm radiated. For reasons he couldn't understand, Porthos was nearly smiling just at the sight of him.

"That's him," Athos confirmed. The emotion in the man's voice was almost completely hidden but he'd been as affected as the rest of them.

"Rene Aramis d'Herblay." Treville's softened tone giving away his own reaction. "Married his childhood sweetheart Isabel and joined the army straight out of school."

"Special Forces." D'Artagnan ran his finger over the files almost reverently. Porthos got it. He kept staring at the photo for a reason. Why he wanted a connection with a man he'd met briefly once was weird, he'd admit. But that was already there. Same as it was with Athos and D'Artagnan and Treville and even Constance. A familiarity like déjà vu that kept trolling his mind but not letting him grab it.

"This says he was a medic. And look at all these commendations. How'd he end up working for Rochefort?"

"Not as a reward," Athos muttered darkly.

Treville sighed heavily. The older man flipped a few pages over, revealing another part of the file. "Not that long after they married, Isabel filed for a separation. She died a short time later. About a year after, Rene's" Treville paused slightly as if he too knew how wrong that sounded, "unit was ambushed on a training exercise. There were only two survivors. The other, Marsac, confronted a superior, accused him of betraying their position and threatened him with his weapon. He was shot and killed during the confrontation."

Athos smoothed out the other photos and wasn't able to fully hide his reaction. Porthos' fists clenched. The aftermath of an annihilation. Body bags littered the ground. A bloody Aramis stared, unfocused, back from one. Gone was the mischief, the charm, the joy of life. Nothing remained. If Porthos ever found the one responsible he'd kill them.

"An investigation was carried out. There were suspicions but nothing was ever proven." Treville didn't need to say who those suspicions had been about. The man's face and stance spoke louder than any 'report'. "He was discharged on medical grounds." Porthos snorted. _Yeah right._

"And ended up working for Rochefort."

Porthos could see it now. After losing his wife and then his friends, injured, alone, looked at with suspicion. Rochefort had targeted him and manipulated him. Bastard was probably responsible for the slaughter himself.

"How do we find him?"

Athos glanced past him, sympathy in his eyes. But not for Porthos. "We don't."

Porthos looked back.

"Aramis."

* * *

_All this time I can't believe I couldn't see_   
_Kept in the dark but you were there in front of me_   
_I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems_   
_Got to open my eyes to everything_   
_Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul_   
_Don't let me die here_   
_There must be something more_   
_Bring me to life_   
  
_(Wake me up)_   
_Wake me up inside_   
_(I can't wake up)_   
_Wake me up inside_   
_(Save me)_   
_Call my name and save me from the dark_   
_(Wake me up)_   
_Bid my blood to run_   
_(I can't wake up)_   
_Before I come undone_   
_(Save me)_   
_Save me from the nothing I've become_   
  
_Bring me to life_   
_(I've been living a lie, there's nothing inside)_   
_Bring me to life_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they're all back together! Next chapter will explain what exactly is going on, I promise.  
> Okay question time. What is your favourite costume for each character:  
> Constance - light blue dress from S2  
> All Musketeers - S2 uniforms  
> Milady - Red dress from episode 1  
> Queen Anne - Gold and white dress from 2x04 and the blue 'peasant' dress from the same ep is a close second as are the gold and gold/ purple dresses she wears in S1 and S2 (I love Anne's wardrobe if you haven't already guessed:).  
> As always let me know your thoughts. Stay safe and Happy Easter!


	8. Sympathy For The Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, here is the next chapter, not much action but there is a surprise guest star (sort of) and some important revelations as to what exactly is happening. The song in question is one which rather suits said special guest (I think there's even a video) and probably a few other of the less empathetic nobles.

* * *

_Please allow me to introduce myself  
I'm a man of wealth and taste  
I've been around for a long, long year  
Stole many a man's soul and faith  
_

_And I was 'round when Jesus Christ_   
_Had his moment of doubt and pain_   
_Made damn sure that Pilate_   
_Washed his hands and sealed his fate_

_Sympathy for the devil – The Rolling Stones_

* * *

" _Aramis."_ The name fluttered over him like a gentle breeze. When was the last time anyone had called him that? When had someone last called him Rene or anything besides killer or Cardinal.

He glanced at the table, his keen eyes recognising the file. Not that he needed to. He'd heard enough before approaching them. His identity couldn't be hidden forever even if his past life was dead. He'd expected it.

What he hadn't expected was the men not recoiling in disgust and horror.

What he hadn't been prepared for was the concern and sympathy on their features.

Concern and sympathy that immediately bubbled in return at the shadowed torment in Athos' eyes, the uneasy grief and rage that radiated from D'Artagnan and the open anguish on Porthos' face. Pain that he was not solely responsible for, but pain that he wanted to ease however he could.

"We need to talk." Treville's tone was clipped but there was no bite in the bark. A soldier's practiced manner of dealing with an emotional situation, he recognised the tactic himself. Focus on the objective not the feelings.

"We do." He handed the photo to the captain. It was a relief to see his own confusion and bewilderment reflected in the faces before him. "Where did you get this?"

"From Rochefort's personal collection." He hesitated but necessity won out. They needed to know. "We're all in danger, Ana especially."

"This looks old," D'Artagnan murmured.

"It is," Athos muttered. "How did Rochefort get this?"

"I knew he was bad news." Porthos growled.

"But how is this possible?" D'Artagnan the question on all their minds. "It must have been doctored."

"Why would Rochefort do that?" Treville asked.

"I don't think so," Rene corrected softly. "There's something…" he trailed off.

"Familiar about it?" Rene tried to bite back his unrealistic hope as Athos' admission hung in the air. At the hope that Athos felt it too. Something buried just beyond the mind. An instinct, a certainty. That photo was proof of a before.

"The party a few nights ago, I got into a fight with a bunch of red guards. Only someone threw a curtain over them. That you?"

He smiled at Porthos half-demanded query, the amusement of the night coming back to him. "The Red Guards need a challenge now and again."

"By fighting me blind?"

"Actually, I thought fighting you at all was a bit too advanced, hence the curtain. I should have gone more simplistic it seems." Porthos mimicked his smirk. He started at the realisation. How long had it been since he'd experienced such lightness even only for the moment? Falling into jokes with Porthos just seemed so natural, so familiar.

"Why did you help Porthos that night?" Athos inquired quietly. The unwavering blue stare evaluating him. They were all judging him.

"For the same reason as you."

"You have a knack for finding trouble." Aramis flashed a genuine smile at the affection.

"What's life without a little danger now and then." Athos snorted at the words. The noise reverberating against Aramis' cheek as he clung to the hug. The arms of Porthos and D'Artagnan wrapped around them. Over Athos' shoulder Treville smiled at the scene.

Aramis nearly wept. He hadn't realised how badly this had been missing from his life. How badly he had missed belonging.

"You were all trying to kill each other recently, now you're best friends!" Constance's frustrated, caring tones echoed but it was the woman at her side that caught his attention.

"I am safest here," Anne said before he could say a word.

"Your Majesty." The bows they fell into felt as natural as Treville's address.

"How…?" D'Artagnan asked again. His youth betraying his bewilderment in all its glory. But even Athos could not hide his own puzzlement. It was odd. While familiarity and déjà vu had become infrequent companions, the intensity with which it now came was astonishing.

He barely knew any of these people, but he would give his life for them in a heartbeat. He knew it was a feeling that was reciprocated.

"Why is this all happening now."

"I can answer that."

Aramis stepped forward, automatically shielding the women as the other men drew their own weapons. The man just rolled his eyes. "They won't help you. But by all means shoot." He held his arms wide in invitation. "Or would you prefer to discuss our mutual problem."

"Rochefort". The man nodded, confirming D'Artagnan's guess.

"Forgive me but who are you?" Treville's politeness emphasized his warning rather than hide it.

"Consider me a benefactor of sorts."

"You're the one responsible for what's happening," Athos surmised.

The man waved an arm in admission. Porthos brought his gun up at the movement and the man rolled his eyes. "Perhaps a different form will make it easier for you." His figure became longer and leaner. His hair shortened and turned to iron. His features sharpened to angular. His suit was now robes.

His lowered himself into one of the seats. "Does that help?"

Despite the mocking tone Porthos nodded seriously. "Yeah, actually." The big man matched the incredulous stares. "What? You never thought the cardinal was the devil too?" D'Artagnan hesitated, not able to see a reason to argue. Rene's features twisted slightly, and he shrugged in agreement. Made sense.

"I'm not the devil. Well not exactly. But if such childish beliefs will help you focus on the matter at hand…"

"What are you then? And what did you give Rochefort."

"I provided him with the means to obtain his desires in return for certain payments."

"And what were these 'desires.'" Porthos drawled.

"Nothing good," Constance murmured side-eyeing the seated man.

"Us dead, I'd wager." Despite his words Athos had no concerns about his statement. He wanted to know more.

"Among other things," 'Richelieu' confirmed. His gaze slide to Anne who stiffened uncomfortably at the attention but met his stare. "He really is quite obsessed with you, Your Majesty. You'd think he'd have realised by now, but credit where credit is due, he persists in trying to win you at the cost of every potential allegiance."

None of them liked the statement. It was too close to a threat even if the faux cardinal had made no move towards her.

Anne for her part straightened her already perfect posture, stepping forward with regal authority and fixing him with a majestic glare. Every inch the queen she truly was. "You said you provided him with means in return for payment. What means and payment, exactly."

"In return for aligning certain parts of the world with his wishes, I get his soul along with what I suppose you would consider the corruption of others." He brushed dust off his robes as if making polite small talk about the weather to pass time.

Porthos shook his head. "All the things wrong with the world and Rochefort has the power to make it even worse."

"So why hasn't he killed us all? What's he waiting for."

"Oh, he has tried. Many lifetimes over. You have all proven rather difficult in that regard."

"Musketeers don't die easily."

"Indeed. I'm almost impressed with the sheer refusal. Fortunately, it suits my purposes."

"You said _lifetimes,"_ Aramis noted. "This photo it- "

"Actually happened. About seventy years ago or so."

The revelation left them all momentarily speechless. Aramis felt dizzy. The ground tilted under his feet as his mind relayed through the implications.

"That's impossible," Aramis insisted, voicing his own thoughts. "What you are implying goes against every law of God."

"Usually."

"When we die, we are risen to the side of Our Lord if we are worthy. Not reborn over and over and over again to cater to a madman's whims." Anne was as appalled as he was.

"The key word in that statement is die, Your Majesty. You can't attend the Lord's side if you can't rise." His lips quirked in a mimic of a cold smile. "Rochefort cursed you in his last moments. He swore his soul for revenge. I heard his offer and accepted. I spared his soul from a proper death, anchored it to this world and gave him the chance for revenge. Which meant all of yours too."

Porthos frowned, confused. "So, we're dead? Or we're not dead?"

"I'm still stuck at Rochefort actually having a soul to sell," said D'Artagnan. They exchanged looks of agreement.

Richelieu rolled his eyes and whirled out of his seat. "Shall we discuss theology, or shall we discuss the matter at hand."

"Why do you want to stop him," Athos probed. "By your own admission he owes you."

"He appears to have unwisely forgotten that fact. I'm not a fairy godmother giving out wishes. A deal with me is paid, one way or another."

"And you'll help us break the curse in exchange for ensuring payment."

"He shouldn't have crossed me."

"You shouldn't have trusted Rochefort," Anne retorted.

Richelieu smirked. "Trust is not a wise choice in my world. Which is why I have taken certain precautions."

"Finding each other wasn't a coincidence."

"I may have allowed you to remember a little easier than necessary. Call it an insurance policy. It's good business. But Rochefort would have ensured it eventually."

"Why?" Constance huffed in frustration. "So, he could gloat." She scoffed, realising she had answered her own question.

"How do we stop him," Treville demanded.

"The anchor that keeps his soul bound to this realm is the source of his power. Destroy it. After that death will be as it should."

"Where is it?"

For the first time he looked sheepish. "I'm not sure. I can sense it in Paris, but he's disguised it to hide it from me"

"So that's why you're helping us. You need us to find it for you," Aramis accused.

"So, we're looking for something, but we don't know what it looks like. In Paris. One of the oldest and busiest and built-up cities in the world," Porthos deliberately pointed out the obvious. "We're looking for your possible needle in a haystack."

Richelieu gave a patent cold smile. "Yes, well you should probably start sooner rather than later." He moved to leave before pausing and turning back. "Incidentally, if your own eternal spiritual freedom isn't sufficient motivation you should know that every soul Rochefort has condemned to death in his place is also tied to it. There are quite a few by now. Well good luck."

Silence filled the void left at the cardinal's departure as they all tried to understand their new reality.

They all sat in stunned silence in the wake of the cardinal's exit, processing the recent revelations. Porthos gave a groan and buried his head in his hands. "Uh my head hurts just thinking about all this."

Athos grabbed a bottle and poured them all a glass.

"At least we know we're not all going crazy," D'Artagnan said.

"Are you alright." Athos asked Aramis.

"This goes against everything I believe in. Everything I thought I believed."

"You've always been able to find faith even in the worse circumstances," Athos reminded him. But those were different circumstances. They didn't compare. He had been the one damaged then, now he was the damage.

"You don't know what I've done."

"You're still Aramis," Porthos insisted firmly. D'Artagnan nodded in agreement. He could barely look at them. "How could he explain the terrible things he'd done, the pain he'd caused for the man who'd caused them such pain. "Rochefort tricked you. He tricked all of us."

"That doesn't forgive what I've done."

"Doesn't matter," Porthos said, "your still one of us. Bastard – sorry Your Majesty, but there's no other word for him – tricked you and forced you when you couldn't fight back. You wouldn't have done it for him otherwise, or I bet it wasn't as bad as he wanted."

Aramis wanted to believe that, so very much. But he couldn't. Porthos held him to too high a standard. He'd never look at Aramis the same way again if he knew how low Aramis had truly sunk.

Athos seemed to understand the demons he still possessed. The other man squeezed his shoulder, "regardless of whatever you have done, there's still time to make things right. You can atone for the things you've done if you need to. But for yourself. Not for me."

"Or me," D'Artagnan said.

"For any of us," Constance said. Treville nodded firmly in agreement. Anne graced him with a small smile dripped in sadness but touched with hope.

"One for all," Porthos held out his hand.

"And all for one." He gratefully leant into his brothers' embrace, more thankful than words could say. They should have rightfully abandoned him. But then they never had, no matter how justifiable. They were his family.

"So, what do we do now," Constance asked once they'd all managed to gather themselves somewhat.

"We stop Rochefort," Treville said firmly before slumping in his chair. "Though I've no idea how."

"His ring," Anne spoke for the first time since Richelieu's departure. They all looked at her. "The ring Louis gave him on his appointment to First Minister. I saw it once in his office. If he did turn his power into something else, that might be it."

"Why?"

"Ego," Porthos offered. "It represents power for him, and it'd be easier to hide and carry with him."

"How do we get it," D'Artagnan asked. "We can't just waltz into his office."

"I can," said Anne. "If Rochefort doesn't suspect I know the truth, my presence there won't alert him."

Aramis immediately rejected the idea. "You can't! It's too dangerous. The things Rochefort's capable of-"

"-I know what he's capable of," Anne retorted sharply, pain flashed across her beautiful features for a moment before she composed herself. "Rochefort has hurt too many as it is. He has to be stopped. I didn't see the truth until it was too late. No one else should pay the price for his own ambition and vanity."

Aramis opened his mouth to argue more but she beat him to it. "I've made up my mind." Her voice had a level of finality to it. A warning to them all. She wouldn't be swayed. He loved and hated that courage and determination right now.

"You can't go back by yourself," Constance argued gently.

"I won't be. I have my friends to help me." She beamed beatifically at them.

He blocked her path unable to let her risk her life so easily. She smiled at him. "I'll be alright. My loyal musketeers have never failed in their duty."

He felt something against his palm. A gold crucifix. He pressed a kiss against her hand not caring their friends were there. A promise of his own.

Anne gently pulled her hand away, turning back to Treville. "If we are to convince Rochefort we're still blind to the truth, we still need to play our parts, Captain."

Treville nodded in acceptance. They all knew how he felt. The next few days would be dangerous and likely painful but they needed to stop Rochefort, whatever the cost.

* * *

"Porthos." The young man raised his head as Treville beckoned him aside. And then he paused.

The young man waited patiently as Treville fought with himself. He had made the right decision; he just didn't know how to act on it. Expressing emotion wasn't something Treville was used to.

No, that wasn't true. Treville was quite skilled in showing his emotions – pride, anger, relief, sorrow, resignation, even tempered joy – at this young man and their companions. Emotions often fuelled by them. Young men and women he had seen as his children.

But he was not used to explaining his emotions. Or himself. Captains couldn't second guess their decisions, it made for dangerous strategies and it got people killed.

"I wanted to tell you, I'm sorry. For Belgarde abandoning you and your mother."

Surprise flashed across Porthos' face before settling into a frown.

"You weren't involved, Captain." _Not this time._ The three words went unspoken but Treville heard them none the less. The one consolation he had was that he had made the right choice this time. For all the good it had done.

"But I wasn't able to stop him either." The regret had shifted. The shame was no longer of what he had done but what he had not.

He had suspected his old friend had been more than frustrated at the situation he had found himself in, a future and a fortune, or a family he was responsible for. He had comforted himself that his friend would surely do what was right because Treville could not be friends with someone who would not. By the time he had realised the truth about Belgarde's character it was too late.

Porthos shrugged, his gaze settling on a point just over Treville's shoulder. "I met him a few years ago. Once briefly. Think I was better off not knowing him. Turned out alright in the end I reckon."

"You could not have turned out better," he replied sincerely resting a hand on the young man's shoulder. Porthos glanced back at him, gratitude and forgiveness in his eyes before re-joining his brothers.

Treville watched the young people for a moment, feeling a little lighter. None of them could have turned out better, no matter the lives they had lived. He could not be prouder of them.

* * *

_So if you meet me  
Have some courtesy  
Have some sympathy, and some taste  
(Woo woo)  
Use all your well-learned politnesse  
Or I'll lay your soul to waste, mm yeah  
(Woo woo, woo woo) _

_Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guess my name  
But what's puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well now everyone knows what's going on what do you think...?
> 
> As always I have a question, though a bit different than usual. What show would you have liked a crossover with? I'd have to say the BBC version of Robin Hood cause I think the two shows are very alike or a modern version with NCIS. I think Gibbs would get a long with Athos and Treville. Any one else any potential ideas?


	9. Fighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, hope you're all still safe and well. Thanks again for all the comments and reviews I didn't have time to reply this week but I will if I can.  
> This week's song is one of my faves and fits the leading ladies of the series nicely I think (the boys too but their are definite girl power connations and I think our awesome ladies could do with their own vid. Other contenders were Beyoncé's Run the World, Little Mix's Salute, Sia's Unstoppable and Titanium, 2WEI Survivor and Aladdin's Speechless. No fandom vids with these songs but Anne appears in a few multi-fandoms (Queens is a popular subject) so check them out for anyone who's interested.  
> I own nothing in case it wasn't obvious.

* * *

_After all you put me through  
You'd think I despise you  
But in the end, I wanna thank you  
'Cause you make me that much stronger_

_When I, thought I knew you  
Thinking that you were true  
I guess I, I couldn't trust  
Called your bluff, time is up  
'Cause I've had enough  
You were, there by my side  
Always down for the ride  
But your, joy ride just came down in flames  
'Cause your greed sold me out of shame_

_After all of the stealing and cheating  
You probably think that I hold resentment for you  
But, oh no, you're wrong  
'Cause if it wasn't for all that you tried to do  
I wouldn't know just how capable I am to pull through  
So I wanna say thank you_

_Fighter- Christina Aguilera_

* * *

Athos needed a drink. A big one. His head pounded - worse than any hangover. He had never been devout. Theology had only ever been an abstract topic of conversation to him. He preferred to deal with clear reality. Recent events had not softened his mindset.

He pushed the whole concept away to deal with later, turning his mind to the mission at hand. Focusing on what he could do.

"I don't like any of this," Porthos muttered darkly. Athos didn't either, so much could go wrong. But the Queen – Anne, whichever way he was to address her now - had been resolute and voicing his doubts at the current moment in time wouldn't be any use.

Constance wrapped her arms around herself, out of concern, Athos knew, not fear. "Do you think the queen will be alright?"

"Treville and I will make sure of it," Aramis assured her. Constance gave him a weak smile and excused herself a moment.

Porthos' frown deepened. "I still don't think you should go back. Rochefort has it in for you."

"He has it in for all of us," Aramis retorted lightly.

That wasn't true Athos knew, and he suspected Aramis did too and was downplaying. Until their paths had crossed again Rochefort had left the rest of them alone. Careful to separate them and consign them to different lives but he hadn't really bothered beyond that.

Aramis he had sought out. Aramis he had recruited and manipulated and tortured. Aramis, he had a particularly vicious grudge against. And Aramis had reason to have very strong feelings about Rochefort of his own. Porthos was right to be worried.

Athos gave Aramis a very hard look to let him know exactly how Athos thought. "If Rochefort does suspect, he will do whatever he can to make life unpleasant for us. You in particular."

"And he hasn't made life unpleasant for us already?" the marksman shot back. "You've been downing those glasses rather quickly for someone who's life has been rather _**pleasant.**_ Being rich again still an unwanted burden? Too many women throwing themselves at you to be the Comtesse de la Fere? _ **"**_

Athos jerked back as if electrocuted. Aramis had always been the best marksman among them with musket or words. How many times had he been the one to ask the armour-piercing questions, the one who inflicted gunshots as easily as he treated them, the one who dealt with the heart of a matter, no matter how bloody.

As the reminders flooded through Athos' mind so too did the memories. Memories of a wounded Aramis haunted by ghosts, Aramis standing between family and duty and refusing to budge, Aramis refuting treason and insisting on something Athos couldn't give him.

Aramis had always been best at understanding Athos' heart, just as Athos had always been the one to sense Aramis' secrets.

They were not here to discuss Athos though. Disclosing his pain would not help them. He glared at Aramis.

The marksman ran a hand through his hair in frustration, his features apologetic. "I'm sorry. That was unfair. I know better, I know you better. What has Rochefort done to you, that has upset you so much, my friend. I'm not his only score to settle, whatever you claim."

"He paid Charon to try to get me out of Paris," Porthos interjected stiffly.

They turned to him in surprise, not that Rochefort had done such a thing, but that Charon had. Athos remembered what the man had done to Porthos though once upon a time and felt anger on Porthos' behalf. The big man stared resolutely back; his unspoken words written on his face.

Athos knew what he had to do, however much he wished he didn't.

"My wife Anne is Milady. I only discovered it this morning." The confession was bitter on his tongue.

Porthos' eyes went huge.

"Again!" D'Artagnan squeaked.

"Your brother?"

"Thomas is still alive. That is the only consolation. Anne is still who she is and always was. I'm just as blind as always."

"I'm sorry, my friends," Aramis offered sincerely, all previous hostility gone.

"What can we do to help," D'Artagnan asked. Porthos put a hand on his shoulder. Athos sighed.

"There is nothing that can be done. It's over between us. But that can wait. Stopping Rochefort is our priority and then we shall make things right." He met each of gazes carefully and steadily. He would not let Rochefort hurt his brothers or their families any longer, even after the son of a bitch was dead.

* * *

Anne quietly closed the door to Rochefort's office. The familiarity of the sparse, purely functional space made more sense now, but she didn't dwell on it. She froze when her eyes fell where the secret door lay before pushing the thought away. She had to be strong, people were counting on her.

Her search of the desk drawers was fruitless. So was the one of the shelves. She froze, her hand still on a cabinet, at voices in the corridor. There was no time to hide.

"Why are you here?" Rochefort looked puzzled. Anne saw the momentary advantage and seized it, along with a folder from the cabinet.

"I was looking for the contracts on the de Clare acquisition. I wanted to make sure all the documents were accounted for."

"I'm looking after it." He handed the files in his hand to the assistant beside him. The ring she had been searching for glinted on his finger.

Catching herself, she fixed a smile on her face, hoping he hadn't noticed her glance. "I'm sure you are, but I need to know the details too, in case you aren't available to handle it."

"I will always be here to handle things." She fought to keep from moving as he came closer. "You don't need to worry about anything."

"It's my company. It's my responsibility. I'm supposed to worry about it." She steeled herself as his arms rested on her shoulders.

"From now on, you can leave all of the responsibility to me. You can rely on me for everything." Anne forced her mind blank so that he wouldn't accidentally see her thoughts. She turned her face as he leaned forward for a kiss. She managed to repress the shivers as his lips brushed her cheek.

"We don't have time. We're both still very busy regardless of who has the responsibility."

He didn't let her go. Instead a finger traced her neck. "You're so beautiful."

Images flashed in her mind. Never had a compliment sounded so chilling. Her smile was more brittle than it should be but hopefully he wouldn't notice. "Thank you."

She froze when he kissed her neck. His hands dropped lower. He moved closer. She gently shoved him back and fought to keep her tone light. "We agreed to wait until after the wedding."

"Why? I love you. I've waited so long as it is." The familiarity and intensity made her blood run cold. He pressed against her again. "Stop." Her hand shot up.

The slap stunned him enough for Anne to take a few steps back, putting distance between them. Distance that didn't seem nearly enough as he stared at her. One hand pressed to his reddening cheek.

He stalked toward her, glaring at her coldly. "Where are the musketeers and Madame Bonacieux?"

He knew. Anne stayed silent. Her friends would never betray her, never abandon her. She would not betray them.

Rochefort changed tactics, softening his tone. "Whatever they've told you is lies. They're trying to manipulate you; they're trying to make us enemies. But it's alright I forgive you. I still love you."

The sickeningly sweet assurances were even worse than the harsh threats and manipulative promises. How had she not seen it sooner. She'd let childish affection blind her. She'd started to sense his darkness before she'd ever known the truth but had wilfully ignored it, unwilling to risk an ally however tenuous. But Rochefort had never really been an ally and she wasn't going to let others suffer because of her weakness again.

"You killed Marguerite. You killed Louis." She had no proof, but she was sure of it. Even if he denied it, she knew in her heart it was true.

"Louis was weak. And he was an idiot and a fool. You never loved him, you never wanted to marry him," Rochefort stated bluntly.

"I didn't want him dead! I didn't want him hurt! He trusted you. He thought of you as a friend and you betrayed him!" She's not sure if she's still talking about Louis or herself but it's still the truth.

"He betrayed me first," Rochefort retorted. "I did it for you. For us. So that we could be together and have what is rightfully ours. I did it for our love."

She rose to her full height and looked him straight in the eye. "It doesn't matter what you say or what you do. If you were the only man I ever knew, I'd still never love you, no matter how many lives I live."

His face turned hard as he summoned the guards. "Escort my fiancée to her rooms and keep her there." The guards exchanged a bewildered look but didn't say a word. They were too cowed or too corrupt. Anne allowed herself to be led out refusing to be dragged like a desperate criminal. She pointedly ignored Rochefort as she did. He wasn't worth her notice or attention. Her loyal musketeers would come for her. And they would stop him. Anne was sure of it.

* * *

Marie-Cessette was fading away. She didn't have much time left, Porthos could see it. She gave him a tired smile. "How are you?"

Trust her to worry about him when she was the one in a hospital bed. "I'm your mother. I'm always going to worry about you. I don't want you to be alone."

"I'm fine. I got friends looking out for me."

A knock at the door revealed Aramis. "I'm sorry to interrupt," the other man said. "I came to say goodbye." Porthos knew he couldn't put it off any longer. He was still upset though.

Marie-Cessette pushed herself up slightly to see Aramis better. "Are you one of Porthos' friends?"

Aramis pasted on a charming smile as he came further into the room. "I have the good fortune and great honour to say that I am."

Porthos discretely shook his head. The other man was incorrigible. She was his mother and in hospital and Aramis was flirting with her as he would the pretty young nurse at the ward desk. "This is Aramis."

"You'll look after Porthos." Marie-Cessette pressed.

"It's usually the other way around," Aramis said. "But I'll forever be a friend and brother to Porthos however I can. He's family as far as I'm concerned. There are others who feel the same, unfortunately they are needed elsewhere at present, but they'll be here as soon as they can. We'd be lost without Porthos. We'll take care of him. You needn't worry."

Marie-Cessette smiled, relieved. Porthos shot him a grateful look. "Thank you. Porthos is a good boy, a man now. He's going to do wonderful things."

"He's already started," Aramis said sincerely. "He's a credit to himself and his mother. His beautiful, resilient, charming mother if I might say so." Porthos rolled his eyes. Marie-Cessette seemed flattered though. Porthos appreciated Aramis kindness' even if it made him uncomfortable. His mother was beautiful despite her hard life. She deserved to hear it from someone besides her son, to know her life had not stopped people from seeing her true beauty.

"I'll be back in a second Maman." He followed Aramis out into the corridor.

"D'Artagnan's gone with Constance and Athos has gone back to his hotel to see if there's anything in the files there that we can use. Treville's gone on ahead. I'm going to follow him."

Porthos nodded distracted. His mother was dying in the next room and his friends were all about to go up against a madman who had turned them into his puppets.

Aramis as always sensed his conflict. His friend gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Take as long as you need here."

"You need me."

Aramis expression shifted. The affection was as strong as always, but his features had not lightened as they usually did. "Always. But you need to be here right now. The others know that, that's why they went on ahead to prep. So, you wouldn't have too."

Thank God he had found his true friends before… "I don't like you going into danger without me."

"Neither do I. It's much more fun being in danger _**with you**_. But we must do what we must. For the good of France and for our own hearts and minds." Porthos rolled his eyes at the flowery speech.

"Be careful yeah?" Aramis nodded in a sort of promise. After all he attracted trouble like he attracted women, often together.

Porthos watched him go, already worrying, thinking about the others. Then he stepped back inside.

* * *

Constance routed through her basket, anything that might be remotely useful she stuffed in her bag. She dropped a scissors and some thread in as the shop bell chimed. Rochefort stopped in front of her, two men slightly behind. Constance swallowed down her anxiety not liking the situation at all.

"Have you made a decision?"

She busied herself with some scraps of fabric as she replied. "Thank you for the offer, Monsieur, but I can't accept it."

"I expected as much. Take her." She protested as the two men grabbed her.

"Where are the musketeers?" Her only answer was a stony glare.

"You could have made this easier for yourself if you had only taken my offer."

"It wouldn't have changed anything," Constance snapped. "Musketeers don't die easily. Whatever it is you've planned they'll stop you, killing me here won't change that."

Rochefort bared his teeth coldly. "Whoever said anything about killing you here?"

She struggled but it made no difference as they pulled her out of the shop.

* * *

"Anything?"

Treville briefly glanced up as Aramis slipped into the small office. "No."

Aramis made a soft noise but otherwise stayed silent. Treville watched him examine the room, picking things up, peering at them, before putting them back down. Treville said nothing. If it was anyone else, he'd have them up on insubordination but not Aramis. Oh, it was very much insolence no doubt. Aramis would have no qualms inspecting Treville's belongings if needed, but out of need not entitlement. And Aramis needed to. Not for Treville's sake but his own. A distraction to stop him acting on instinct and ruining their potential plan.

Treville allowed him that distraction because he needed it too. It wasn't the waiting, soldiers had to be patient. A leader knew it was important to strike at the _**right**_ moment not necessarily the first moment.

It wasn't even that his own were in danger while he sat waiting news. A captain became use to risk to his men, a minister got use to sending others where he most. But it was never with a light heart. And Anne wasn't his man or his soldier. She was his queen, his charge, the young woman he vowed to protect and serve, and he failed to do either. Instead she was risking her life to go unnoticed and stop a man who had already betrayed and harmed her in the worst of ways.

Needing a distraction himself he watched Aramis warily. If it was Athos, he wouldn't have been worried. Porthos maybe even less so. It wasn't that either man took their duty less seriously. Treville knew they'd hate this feeling just as much as he did but both men would be able to see the bigger picture, the need to prioritise France. D'Artagnan would try to understand but his impetuous nature did not suffer trepidation easily. He might need a steady hand to keep it at bay until a better time.

And Aramis? The qualities that made Aramis such a good soldier were so often the ones that also made him a terrible one. It was only the potential risk that acting rashly at such a delicate time posed that kept the marksman there.

Treville would make sure he didn't endanger the queen any more than she already was.

"Athos thinks I'm the one who's pissed Rochefort off most." Treville wasn't sure if Aramis had sensed his thoughts or genuinely wanted to talk about it.

"Athos is probably right."

Aramis frowned so strongly; it was obvious he was deliberately exaggerating. Treville wasn't surprise when it melted into a flashing smile. "Maybe he's jealous. My winning way with people is better than his. He doesn't have any madmen looking for him."

Treville shook his head. Athos might respect Aramis' ability with people, but he doubted the taciturn man wanted the trouble or company it brought.

Athos had said it because he was worried and trying to get Aramis to act in self-preservation for himself for once. For all the time that Treville could remember Aramis had never been known to act in his own self-preservation.

Which was why Treville was keeping an eye on him.

"Rochefort has gone out of his way to make you suffer." His tone was even. A captain factually informing his soldier of important mission parameters. Treville needed to be his men's captain right now.

"The same could be said about you." Treville's eyes narrowed as Aramis sat down across from him acting as if he hadn't a care in the world, not at all contrite.

The Inseparables had always been quicker than the other men to push against the boundaries between captain and subordinate. Treville had for the most part allowed it to an extent, his fondness for the four and the good intentions involved slowing the reprimands. But the others had always been mindful of the differentiation of the roles they held, had still respected his authority as captain.

Aramis had always respected authority, he also had considered those who wielded it just as equal as the rest of the world and never hesitated to show it.

"Rochefort stone-walled your career. Everyone knows it. You should have been a proper captain with an actual command, not glorified stage pomp. I know it, you know, Louis knew it. Everyone knows it, including Rochefort." Treville narrowed his eyes in warning, Aramis pressed on regardless. "He wanted to make sure you could never oppose him."

"He wanted to humiliate me." Treville snapped. He had pushed the thoughts down until now, but it was true. "And he wants you dead!"

Aramis smiled a cold smile. One that Treville knew never boded well for Aramis or anyone else. "If Rochefort wanted me dead, he's had more than enough chances to see it happen. He's not planning on letting me off so easy."

' _No,'_ Treville mentally conceded, ' _that's_ _what worries me.'_

The doors burst open, the red guards flooding the room, weapons at the ready. Rochefort strode in behind them. _"_ _ **Former Captain**_ Treville, you're under arrest for embezzling, corruption, treason, kidnapping and attempted murder." His sneer deepened as his gaze shifted to Aramis. "Two traitors for the price of one. Arrest them! Shoot them if they resist."

Treville had been able to draw his weapon. Aramis with the speed that made him so admired and dangerous had drawn both of his. One pointed at the man who likewise held Treville at gunpoint and one directly at Rochefort himself.

The blond stared coldly back not bothered by the gun barrel in his face. He and Aramis exchanged glares. Treville surrendered his gun. Aramis reluctantly did the same. Killing Rochefort now would accomplish nothing in the long-term only give him another chance to start again. There were too many for them to take all the guards and they were no good incapacitated or dead.

"That's the first smart thing you've done. Now where are your friends?"

"Friends?" Aramis' tone took on a confused tone. "What friends? You're my only friend."

"Where are Porthos, Athos and D'Artagnan?" Rochefort demanded.

 _Damn!_ Treville set his jaw, his glare deepening.

Aramis shrugged – or the closest to a shrug with his hands pulled behind the back. "I'm not sure. Athos might be at the spa. He needs the relaxation after having to deal with you for the last few days. Porthos," he paused, thinking exaggeratingly, "Porthos has gone sight-seeing, wanted to see the views from the Eiffel Tower and who knows where D'Artagnan is. Lad never stays still, too much energy."

Treville pulled against the men restraining him as Aramis' snapped back from the punch. The blond drove his heel into the back of Aramis' leg forcing him to knees. He was rewarded with another punch. The younger man briefly caught Treville's eye as he glared back at Rochefort.

"Being an irresponsible smart alec won't help you, _**musketeer**_."

"Being a delusional psychopath won't help you."

"Madame Bonacieux has already been arrested for her role in coercing my fiancée to steal from me. Tell me where your friends are, and they'll at least live to see outside a prison cell eventually."

"Where are they?" Aramis demanded.

"Constance and Anne are civilians, Rochefort. They have nothing to do with your grudge against the musketeers." It was a long shot, Treville knew, but he had to try.

"She tried to take the queen away from me," Rochefort retorted never taking his eyes off Aramis.

"Anne was never yours to begin with."

Bang! Bang! The shots rang out quicker than Treville could register them. Aramis fell back against the desk, before crumpling to the ground, barely conscious.

Treville couldn't break the guards' hold on him. He could only snarl threats as Rochefort leaned over the medic. The blond's reached out and he yanked on the crucifix that had fallen free from the brunet's shirt. "She's mine now!"

Aramis' hand weakly tried to grasp the dangling memento back only to fall back against his abdomen where the other lay. His breathing shallow. Rochefort had fired both shots to the stomach. Treville knew what that meant. So did Rochefort.

"Don't die too fast. Feel the pain as I did." Rochefort dropped the lit match in the waste basket. It quickly caught on the lose papers. The flames lapped at the air desperate to feed.

Treville struggled in vain as he was dragged out the door. Aramis still lay unconscious on the floor. Treville didn't stop fighting – however unsuccessfully – until he saw the smoke in the sky. He had failed Aramis, again.

* * *

"You have no right to be here."

Thomas glared at her. "You need to leave." She ignored him as she gathered more of her things. She refused to be pushed out by Catherine and Thomas.

She picked up some jewellery. Catherine grabbed it from her. "That's not yours. It belongs to the lady of the house, not some thieving gutter-snipe who's trying to social climb her way into the elite."

Milady rolled her eyes. Catherine's father had left the family so in debt that the de Feres' were the only reason she wasn't flat on her back to get by, for what little she'd make at it, not too many men would pay for Catherine's company, let alone much. "I'm Oliver's wife, whether you like it or not. He loves me."

A commotion sounded in the hallway. Guards trooped in. "Milady de Winter, you're under arrest for theft, embezzlement, solicitation, and assault, among other things." Thomas nodded at them to take her. Catherine smirked.

They flanked her out into the corridor. She scrutinised their uniforms, not standard police issue. "You're Rochefort's men." She barely waited for the confirmation as self-preservation kicked in. If Rochefort sent them, she wouldn't live long in his custody.

The first two guards were down before any of them even realised the dagger was in her hand. The third wasn't quick enough even with the surprise gone. The fourth and fifth managed to fight back but she had momentum, desperation and determination on her side.

Catharine was shouting. There was yelling. She whirled the dagger at the one who grabbed her. Directly into Thomas' heart. Catherine cried out as he fell. A shout caused her to turn and see Oliver's horrified face.

* * *

_'Cause it makes me that much stronger  
Makes me work a little bit harder  
It makes me that much wiser  
So thanks for making me a fighter  
Made me learn a little bit faster  
Made my skin a little bit thicker  
Makes me that much smarter  
So thanks for making me a fighter_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately not a very happy chapter for our heroes. Be sure to let me know what you think.  
> As always I leave you with a question. What song(s) do you think best suits each character? Until next time!


	10. Knockin On Heaven's Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, work and everything else has been kinds crazy at the moment. Despite leaving my house less, it feels like I have even less free time. Anyway, thanks for all the kudos and comments.
> 
> The song for this chapter is one of my favourites and there's a hauntingly beautiful fandom vid on Youtube, if you haven't seen it, check it out. Anyway here's the next chapter.

* * *

_Mama Take This Badge From Me_   
_I can't use it anymore_   
_It's getting dark too dark to see_   
_Feels Like I'm_   
_Knockin' On Heaven's Door._

_Knockin' On Heaven's Door. - Raign_

* * *

Porthos paused only for a moment as the room lit up, taking in the figure in the armchair. Not caring that he might be walking into an ambush – he'd welcome a fight right now – he went straight for the cupboard, digging out the one bottle of alcohol in the house. An old Christmas present – still sealed.

"Get out."

"That's hardly any way to talk to a guest."

"Guests are welcome. You're not."

"I have a proposal for you."

"Not interested."

"How like a musketeer. Not even bothering to understand the situation before blundering through like a herd of deranged wildebeests."

"You paid Charon for information on me, try to convince me to leave Paris, betray our friendship." Charon's choice still stung. Someday it might heal. But their friendship was over now, forever tainted by the knowledge.

"Everyone betrays everyone eventually or is that something else you don't understand."

"I ' _ **understand**_ ' enough. You put D'Artagnan's father in the hospital. You kept Treville from being a proper Captain. You made Aramis…" Porthos stopped the anger nearly taking him over. He wanted to hit Rochefort. Over and over again until he was a broken, bloody mess. The bastard deserved it. But Porthos wasn't stupid, he was a gambler. One that might cheat but he knew enough to know when to take a risk and when to bluff. Rochefort had come here for a reason and Porthos wasn't going to accidentally tip their hand.

"I put D'Artagnan's father in the hospital, I can get him out."

Porthos leaned against the counter. Anything the man said was guaranteed to be a pack of lies but if he let Rochefort talk enough, the blond might let something slip that they could use. Then, after they'd stopped him, Porthos could beat him into a bloody mess.

"Yeah, how are you going to do that?"

"The same way I made him live. The same way I made your mother live." Porthos froze. Rochefort eyed him like a snake.

"I can make her live again. I can give you what you want most. You and the rest of the musketeers. I'll even let you stay together. D'Artagnan and Madame Bonacieux can even have a happy little farm life in married bliss, if that's what they want." Porthos ignored the mocking tone. That wasn't important now.

"And what do we do in return?" _What's the catch, you son of a bitch?_

"Anne and I will be married in less than two days. You and your friends don't interfere."

"You giving her what she wants? Cause I'm fairly sure not being married to you as is what she really wants. Being as far away from you as possible actually."

The blond ignored the insult. "I can be your friend or your enemy. Stay out of my way and you'll all live, even Aramis. This world came about because I took away your regrets. Don't take them back."

Porthos only glared as the other man got up and left. His fists clenched and he shook with fury. God, he wanted to stop Rochefort, but he couldn't deny he was tempted.

* * *

Athos had lost track of the amount he'd had to drink but as he could still remember the sight of his wife killing his brother, it was not nearly enough.

He scowled when Porthos pulled the bottle away. The other man ignored him, poured a drink for himself and sat down, leaving the bottle between them. "You didn't show at the meeting."

"You didn't need me there." It was the truth. They couldn't do anything without the ring, and they could destroy the ring without him. He couldn't protect his family of birth, how he could protect the family he had found?

"Would have been nice to have you there, especially since no one else was, except myself and the whelp." Athos' hand froze just before reaching the bottle. He was intoxicated but not so drunk that he didn't realise the significance of Porthos' words – even if it took slightly longer than it should.

"I can't find Constance," D'Artagnan dashed up to them. Instead of sitting, he paced the table. "She's not at home, she's not at the shop, she's not answering her phone." Athos pushed the bottle away, ordering a coffee and water from a passing waiter.

D'Artagnan was still pacing. "Rochefort has her! I know it. I'm going to kill him!"

"Make sure it sticks this time."

Porthos reached out an arm, stopping the youth before he could march off and get himself killed. "I had a visit from Rochefort earlier. Said if we stay away and let him marry the queen, he'll let us have whatever we want, including bringing back my mum and Aramis."

D'Artagnan froze, his eyes wide with horror.

The shock was like ice water to Athos.

"Aramis isn't dead," Porthos stated firmly. "He's too stubborn a bastard to let that son of a bitch kill him."

Shame and guilt flooded Athos. He was not the only one in pain. And unlike him, Porthos had not brought destruction to his family the way Athos had to his. "I'm sorry, my friend."

Porthos nodded in acknowledgement of the comfort. "My mother was a good woman; Rochefort doesn't get to use her memory for his own messed up games. And he ain't hurting Aramis either."

* * *

Anne ignored Rochefort as he entered, keeping her gaze firmly on the view. They stared in silence for a moment, a power play of sorts.

Rochefort broke first, tossing something onto her bed. She froze as she recognised it. Her crucifix. "Your precious Aramis is dead. He bled out from a gunshot to the stomach or burnt to death in the fire that followed, whichever succeeded first. Either way he died _ **excruciatingly**_."

Anne fought back tears. Aramis couldn't be dead. Not her brave, kind, honourable champion. Her knight and saviour. Not Aramis. He couldn't be. Rochefort had to be lying. How many times had it seemed her fate was inevitable only for her rescuer to appear and deliver her to safety?

"Treville and your trusted Madame Bonacieux have been arrested."

Oh god, Constance had been caught in his trap too. And Treville. Neither of them deserved this. She wouldn't let Rochefort think this weakened her faith though. "The musketeers will rescue them and then me."

"I don't think so. Do you know what I realised after my time in a Spanish prison? After all those incidents with your treasured musketeers?"

She shrugged, determined to give only the barest attention – except to learn something. She may have been his prisoner, but he didn't control her.

"Hope. The thought of having what you most desire. That want can help a man through _**anything**_."

"I imagine what the musketeers most want now is your death. Your theory doesn't bode well for your own wellbeing."

He smirked. "Porthos' mother has just died. D'Artagnan's father will soon follow and Athos' wife is wanted for the murder of his brother."

Her gaze dropped to the floor. Those poor men, how terrible to lose loved ones in such ways. "I can bring them back," his voice was smooth as silk, like a spider's web.

"What do you want?" she snapped angrily.

He stared at her for a moment. Anne forced herself not to look away in revulsion. "I want what I've always wanted, what you gave up. For us to be together, to rule France as we were meant to."

"I never wanted you Rochefort. And France is a republic now. You can't be crowned its king."

"Maybe not in name," he allowed. "But there are other means to an end. Marry me, be by my side, learn to love me and I'll let Treville and Madame Bonacieux go free, they can live happily ever after with whoever's left of your precious musketeers, as long as it's outside Paris. Refuse and I'll have them beheaded immediately like their descendants did to yours."

"And why should I believe you," Anne asked bitterly. She had stopped believing his lies long ago. "Why would you possibly let them go."

"Because I've already offered Porthos that deal. Do you think he'll choose his family and friends or keep his fealty to a crown that doesn't exist anymore? Who do you think your dear Constance will save? Her beloved D'Artagnan or you?" Anne turned away, unwilling to listen to anymore. The musketeers were loyal. They were honourable men who had done their duty beyond even what she as Queen of France could rightly ask of them. And they had done so without hesitation. They wouldn't forsake her. But could she ask them to sacrifice so much for her now when they had given so much already?

She was a queen, perhaps no longer in title but she had been born for it, raised for it. Her duty was to France and its people, would always be to France and her people. Had the cardinal not addressed her as such only a day ago.

"And the others."

Rochefort stared at her puzzled.

"Louis, Marguerite, all the other people you had killed because it was more convenient or because they got in your way. The people whose souls you traded for your own," _Aramis_ "they go free too, so that they can find peace." It was too much to ask that they be brought back, Rochefort would never agree, but this at least, this concession she could ensure.

"I need something," Rochefort argued apathetically, not outright resisting the idea but not conceding either. "It's either my soul to be paid or theirs."

"You'll have mine." She met his eyes daringly. "Or am I not what you wanted."

Shock and disbelief twisted his face before melding into delight, though there was no light, joy or warmth in the expression. He reached a hand out, stopping inches from her face as if not quite believing his fortune.

"Spare Constance and the musketeers and free the souls you have for me. Show me that you really love me and I'll marry you. This is what you want, you don't need anything else. My soul for theirs."

"Done."

The tears escaped only after he left her alone in a room that had once again become a cage. She cradled the crucifix as she silently sobbed. For Aramis who had saved her more than she could ever say, for Constance who'd always been steadfast and true, for Treville, Athos, D'Artagnan and Porthos, the most honourable and loyal men that she'd ever known. And she wept for Louis and Marguerite, victims of a demon's rage.

Anne wept for her son, the beautiful little boy she had cherished and might never hold again.

And she cried for herself, once again at the whims of the man who had betrayed her, abused her and terrified her more than any other.

Finally, she dried her eyes, clutching the little pendant tighter.

She stared at the little cross, all that she now had of the man she had freely given it to, along with her heart, and had given her a son in return. She wouldn't see her son again, not in this world, not with Rochefort.

She would never give that monster a child, no child deserved to suffer him, especially not her little boy with his bright smile and mischievous eyes and kind nature. No, she thought, I will die before I let that happen.

She steeled herself, resolute. She had a choice to make. The musketeers would do what they could, but she must do what she could.

_Lamb of God have mercy on us._

* * *

Something was burning. That was the thought that formed in Aramis' mind. Groggily he forced his eyes open, only to immediately shut them against the light. His throat was all scratchy too. The burning smell was stronger now. And it was so damn hot. He tried opening his eyes again, keeping them as narrow slits to adjust, only for them to widen with the shocked realisation that _**everything**_ in the room was burning _, including the room_. And very soon him as well if the very unattractive and angry red tone his skin had turned was an indicator.

He could barely keep his eyes open; they were watering so badly from the smoke. The coughing fit that hit nearly incapacitated him. He forced himself to sit up, ignoring the aching pain. He had a couple of minutes at the most before he probably succumbed to the inferno.

A quick glance at the door immediately ruled it out, the flames had already engulfed it. The window would soon follow, he needed to move quickly.

The old latch had already warped in the heat. Aramis ripped the blinds away, slicing off a couple of strips on a section that had not yet become ablaze. He wrapped the makeshift coverings around his hands. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed the smouldering chair and swung it.

The glass shattered from the heat and the assault. Aramis cleared away what shards he could in the brief time he had before climbing through. His clothes ripped and snagged on the jagged edges, but they were likely already ruined anyway.

The oxygen from the broken window had only fed the blaze which had decided to follow him like a fiery passionate lover.

The ledge was just wide enough to manoeuvre. His shoulders screamed with the exertion as he used the bricks to haul himself up. At this height a fall would cause broken appendages if he was lucky. He needed to get down. Carefully he made his way to the left.

At one point the knee Rochefort had kicked gave way and Aramis found himself half-clinging, half dangling on the ledge with a view of the street he'd rather not have. He scrambled back against the wall, trying to regain his balance. He probably deserved death, but he needed to make sure his family were alright first. He couldn't just give up and risk Rochefort hurting them. The man had already proven the depths of violence he was capable of.

The building was adjacent to another. These ones had rails around their windows lined with window boxes. A colourful attempt to add nature in the urban scape.

The railings were designed for aesthetic not practicality and certainly not for the bodily weight of a musketeer. The first one groaned as he lowered himself down.

The next one shook ominously. The railings only covered from the third floor up. He studied the last railing and let himself drop. The final railing trembled at his weight. As Aramis watched the top pulled lose from its moorings and dangled out from the wall.

He would have preferred it turned upside down and left him a couple feet closer to the ground. But the bottom rung was in danger of coming free too. He'd have to chance it. He glanced down again, plotting his best course and jumped.

The pavement solidly greeted his feet. Thankfully Aramis was somewhat experienced in jumping from windows and had developed some skill at it, allowing him to at least be able to walk away.

Or stumble in this case as he fell against an alley wall.

Gritting his teeth against his protesting body he made his way down the alley. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the approaching sirens as soon as possible before Rochefort discovered his survival.

Treville's office had been based in a business district. Quiet outside of normal business hours it had a habit of attracting more unscrupulous sorts as well.

Aramis fell back behind a corner at a stifled gasp. Pressing himself as tight as he could to the wall he carefully peered around. "Milady!"

The brunette spun around blade at the ready, the body still falling to the ground. In his weakened state Aramis didn't have a chance to stop her getting close and putting her blade to his neck.

"I need your help." She scoffed at the request.

Aramis glanced back at the vaguely familiar body. "Rochefort's included you in his list of targets too."

The knife pressed further against his throat. "What do you know about Rochefort." Aramis silently chastised himself. Milady hadn't been with them when the Cardinal had made his visit. Who knew what she actually remembered?

"He's neutralising anyone he sees as an enemy," Aramis answered, keeping his tone as light and even as he could. given his overall health and the sharp point at his jugular. He deliberated what to say before realising he didn't have a lot of time. He needed to persuade her to help, fast. "Including you and Athos."

The mention of his brother did the trick. Her eyes flashed at the name. The sensation of the blade left his neck as she stepped back, only to replace the dagger with a gun which was now pointed at him. But he was no longer in danger of having his throat slit when he swallowed. Progress. Baby step progress but progress.

"What do you know about Rochefort and Athos."

"Rochefort will try to kill Athos." Rochefort would certainly try, though Aramis didn't rate his chances of success. Athos was after all very stubborn, too stubborn to allow Rochefort that victory, and Aramis wasn't going to let it happen if he could help it. Although he wasn't much help in his current condition. Hence, needing Milady.

"Why should I care?"

"Because you love him, you're his wife."

"He didn't care that I was his wife when he handed me over to the police."

Aramis frowned, the buzzing in his head worsening. The rediscovery of Milady's true identity had been a shock to Athos alright, but it rather paled in comparison to even more recent revelations. Athos might strive to uphold the law, but he knew when to focus on the bigger picture. He wouldn't have ensured Milady's arrest unless…

"Thomas. You killed him." Aramis slumped against the wall. Milady's face confirmed his suspicion. _I'm so sorry, my friend._

"Thomas shouldn't have interfered. He should have just stayed away." She turned to leave.

"Milady wait! Rochefort has Constance and Treville. He will kill them if he decides too. And Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan as well."

She remained impassive.

"You're not that heartless!" he snapped in frustration. "He has the queen. He has Anne. She helped you once. Surely you remember something?" If the memory of Athos wasn't enough to turn her, maybe the buried respect she had for Anne would.

"Rochefort will keep coming after you as long as he thinks you're a liability to him."

He could see her mulling his words through her mind.

"What's in it for me?"

* * *

Rochefort was standing at his desk bent over the documents there. He deliberately folded them at Athos' entrance, moving them to the far end of the desk. Athos ignored the power play. He had more important concerns.

"What do you want?"

"Porthos says you claim to be able to revive the dead."

"I'm not reviving Aramis."

Athos clenched his fists at the reminder. "I'd like to kill you right now for that. But that's not why I'm here. I know you'd never spare him."

"Then why come?"

"Her Majesty, Constance and Treville." Athos' narrowed his eyes, not hiding his hatred for the man. "Aramis would give his life a thousand times if it meant the safety of others."

"How touching," Rochefort mocked. "What about Milady de Winter?"

"She lied and murdered my brother. The law can deal with her. I told the red guards they could take her."

"You don't want your brother back?"

The idea was too much to ignore, no matter how impossible. "Would you actually do it?"

Rochefort remained quiet for a moment, deliberating. Athos stayed silent waiting. This was the important part. He needed to convince Rochefort they were desperate enough.

"Anne has agreed to marry me. She and I will be bound together as one."

"Congratulations," Athos retorted drily. He wondered if it was true. The queen had hardly had a change of heart about the man. If she had really consented. something had prompted her. A loss of faith, a sense of duty or was she buying time until some other escape presented itself. Queen Anne was many things but weak or cowardly had never been any of them Athos knew.

"I will provide you with the locations of Treville and the Bonacieux woman once the marriage has been officiated. I will even revive your brother and Porthos' mother on the condition you all leave France, go into exile and never come back."

Athos pretended to ponder the offer. "I need proof the queen is well, now and once every week. As long as she is, we'll stay away."

"Agreed." They didn't shake hands.

Athos took the paper handed to him and left. He needed to tell the others so they could put the next step of their plan in action.

* * *

"Want a drink love? Only cost you a smile."

Constance scowled at the men holding her hostage as they laughed. They'd been making stupid comments and catcalls since they'd arrived. Thankfully that was all they had done, finding some match on tv more interesting.

They'd been drinking a bit too. Evidently one lone woman tied up didn't require much attention. That suited Constance. Quietly she shifted herself a few inches. She couldn't go far in case one of them turned around and noticed her. She stretched out her legs, making it seem as if she was only trying to get more comfortable. Subtly she checked to see that they were still enthralled by their game and hooked her leg under a strap. The bag tilted towards her.

The zip was half open. Constance dove her bound hands inside. Her hands folded around something smooth. Her phone! Carefully she slipped the device under her legs to hide it and reached into the bag again,

She felt along the side. _'C'mon, c'mon.'_ This time something cool and metal brushed against her fingers. Her tailoring scissors. Carefully she wrapped her hands around the object and pulled it out.

She couldn't risk dropping them. Another glance up, the men were still absorbed by the tv. She gripped the open scissors between her knees and sawed at the ties at her wrist. She almost dropped the scissors in surprise when it finally cut through. She quickly freed her ankles too.

Another glance up. Quietly she got to her feet and crept towards the door.

"Hey!" Constance felt something clamp around her arm and swing her around. She reacted on instinct, her knee swung up as the man doubled over with a grunt, Constance brought her fist down across his face.

The second man lunged forward, grabbing the arm that hit his friend. Without thinking Constance swung her now free other arm – the one still holding the scissors – at him. The scissors buried themselves in his shoulder. She didn't wait. Running to the door she quickly threw off the chain and pulled it open, racing down the street away from her pursuers.

* * *

"Rochefort thinks you're dead," Athos announced as he returned. Aramis nodded wearily, resisting the urge to rub the bruises on his torso. Even with a Kevlar vest, getting shot still hurt. His eyes, head and throat still stung from the fire too and he longed to rub them. But the others would notice if he did, he couldn't be weak now.

"He's also getting married." To an outsider, Athos would have seemed apathetic, but Aramis knew him. He saw the tiny worried creases along his eyes and hear the concerned tones buried under the calm delivery.

"What!" D'Artagnan exclaimed aghast. Athos silently handed Aramis a letter.

_My dearest Athos,_

_I must give my most heartfelt condolences to you, Porthos and D'Artagnan. The courage and strength of my loyal musketeers has never been in doubt, but I am truly sorry that it must once more be tested under such distressing and painful circumstances. Grief for the loss of a loved one often eases but never fades. I wish I could lessen your pain but alas I can only offer this, that I will pray for them and you all, with all my heart and hope that what good and precious memories you have will bring you peace._

_Rochefort has kept me updated with news of Constance and Treville's wellbeing, I hope they will find themselves in better spirits shortly, wherever that may be._

_That is why I am writing this letter. We cannot change the past, only our futures. Whatever lives we may have led; we must accept the one we live now. It seems like we have been separated from so many, too many already, but we need to carry on. We need to do what is right, though I know my musketeers will always do so, no matter how painful. No one else should suffer for the sins of the past._

_I know you will do as you must, just as I must do as I must. I know my duty – I know my destiny - and I will not run from it. Just as I know my musketeers would never do so, but you are not my musketeers anymore. I Anne, daughter of Phillip and Margaret, former Queen Regent of France, Infante of Spain and Archduchess of Austria, absolve you and your friends from your oath. Musketeer or not, I grant you all leave to be free to do as you choose. Please choose to be happy, be happy for all of us who could not be, for all of us who did not live long enough._

_Your friend always_

_Anne_

"He's forcing her," Aramis hissed, anger drowning the pain. Rochefort had proved ruthlessly brutal when he decided something. He'd clearly threatened Constance and Treville's lives to get her assent. Anne wasn't safe with him, even if she was playing to his desires. Rochefort's violent nature would lash out again.

'" _I know what he's capable of."'_ That was his last memory of her. Beautiful and resolute and courageous. Just as she had always been, and she was counting on him, on them, to save her.

"When?"

"As soon as possible." Athos frowned, looking vaguely irritated, a sure sign he was extremely worried. "I saw them fortifying the entrances as I was leaving."

"He doesn't trust us not to interfere," Porthos muttered.

"Well the feeling is mutual," Aramis pointed out.

"We need to get in there now!" D'Artagnan insisted, "make Rochefort tells us where Constance and Treville are."

"He'd only have them killed," Athos pointed out. "We need to get them together and without Rochefort finding out about it."

This was his fault. If only he'd been able to convince Rochefort, if only he could have prevented Treville been taken, if only he could have stopped Anne from going back. If only, if only. If only he could stop bringing danger and death to those he loved. It had already happened. Isobel. Marsac. Once more he had failed her. This was because of him.

"It's because Rochefort's a deranged lunatic," Porthos growled.

"Porthos is right," Athos said. "Whatever mistakes you have made, Aramis, they aren't what made Rochefort choose his path."

"No, him being an immortal psycho who can't understand no, is," D'Artagnan added.

Aramis looked at him. He so wanted to believe them.

"We'll get them back," Athos promised.

_Or die trying. Please God, save her. Spare them._

"We still don't know where they are," Milady pointed out.

"I saw where he keeps his documents," Athos stated. "But I can't get in there myself. Not now."

"Rochefort's using Constance and Treville as his leverage. If he thinks we're going to make a move against him, he'll make sure he has them secure."

"And close by," Porthos added. "He'll want them handy in case he needs to use them."

Athos glanced at him, "can you think of anywhere he might be keeping them?"

Aramis thought, where would Rochefort keep such valuable prisoners? "There are a few places." He pointed out the three most likely ones.

They all studied the maps. They needed to narrow it down.

A bouncing rhythm suddenly blared out. Surprised D'Artagnan pulled out his phone. "Hello?" The young man's eyes widened and his whole expression became animated. "Constance! Where are you!" Clever Constance.

Porthos grinned. "Good girl."

He gripped the phone so tightly against his ear it was in danger of fusing to the lad's head. "Send me a pin." D'Artagnan pointed to one of the places they had marked. Aramis studied it for a moment and then tapped the marked location furthest away. Treville.

D'Artagnan was still talking to Constance. "I'm on my way."

He looked up in expectation. Athos looked at both D'Artagnan and Aramis. "Be careful." He turned to the other two, "we'll get Treville and the documents. And then we end this."

* * *

Constance was in a part of the city she didn't know. It was for that reason she found herself staring at the wall that encased the three sides of the laneway in front of her. A dead end.

"Oi." Constance's heart sank as her two guards came up behind her. The one she had kicked was moving quickly and deliberately. Annoyed. The other had removed the scissors, the white bandage under his arm in stark contrast to the dirty mustard and now burgundy shirt he wore, stayed a little further back.

Constance fought back, of course. But it was two against one and she was half the size of each. They also had some combat skills and she was unarmed and had lost the element of surprise. It wasn't long before they had her arms twisted behind her back as they patted – and groped – her down.

"What's this?" One of them pulled her phone out of her pocket. Constance's heart sank. The location beacon was still flashing, showing them exactly what she had done.

"Oooo, Juliet's been calling her boyfriend," he gave her a grin. "Thanks for that love. I was wondering if Romeo'd ever get here." He gave a whistle and Constance stared horrified as half a dozen men appeared at the entrance of the alley. "Loverboy's on his way. Get ready."

He grinned at her again. That was the plan all along, Constance realised. She hadn't just been taken to threaten her friends into compliance.

"Don't worry Juliet, you and Romeo will be together in death soon. 'Long with all your friends who go after the old man." They laughed mockingly as they blew kisses.

Rochefort had set up a trap and she was the bait. D'Artagnan was going to walk straight into an ambush. All because of her.

* * *

_Mama put My guns in the ground_   
_I can't shoot them anymore_   
_That cold black cloud is comin' down_   
_Feels Like I'm_   
_Knockin' On Heaven's Door._

_Knock-Knock-_   
_Knockin' On Heaven's Door_   
_Knock-Knock-_   
_Knockin' On Heaven's Door_   
_Knock-Knock-_   
_Knockin' On Heaven's Door_   
_Knock-Knock-_   
_Knockin' On Heaven's Door_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will they succeed or will they die trying? Dun, dun. duun!
> 
> Seriously check out the vid on youtube if you haven't already. 
> 
> There's too more chapters to go. I'm running out of question ideas so if you have any let me know. For today's however:  
> What storylines would you have liked to see more of differently?
> 
> I personally would have liked to see more of the PTSD they were all dealing with in S3 - post-war/ S2 and more of the impact on the relationships between the individual duos/ groups of characters.


	11. Saved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is later than planned. Apologies for that. Good news is that this is the penultimate episode. Bad news, it's not a guarantee everyone gets out alive:)
> 
> Thanks again to everyone still reading and reviewing. If you do not know the song for this chapter, look it up on Youtube now! It's one of my faves and possibly one of the best Musketeer ganvids out there.
> 
> Some scenes may seem familiar, as some things are just destined to be, it's a modern take as a homage to the show, obviously I own nothing.

* * *

_Try to give but you don't want – want for nothing._   
_And you don't talk 'cause you don't wanna tell me something._   
_Feels like I'm saying too much when I'm only tryin' to show you my love._   
_You're runnin' away, runnin' away scared o' nothing_   
_Can't look back 'cause you might just regretin' something_   
_Just when we're coming on right we always seem to start a fight._   
_And I know why._

_When the skies have rained enough and the sun comes risin' up_   
_Will it show which one of us needs to be saved._   
_Got to hope we'll make it through and the light will show the truth_   
_Then we'll know which one of us needs to be saved._   
_Is it me or is it you, these clouds are breaking_   
_The words we hear, the sun light is the devil's making_   
_And there are things that shouldn't be said,_   
_Then I guess the pain is all in my head,_   
_All in my head, all._

_Saved - Kwabs_

* * *

Milady watched Rochefort as he reached into the wall behind him. So that was where he had hidden things. She let him close the hiding place and waited a moment before making her presence known. Rochefort glared at her but only in general suspicion she noted. He didn't realise she had seen him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Payment," she answered without preamble. She remembered Rochefort now or at least she remembered the danger he posed. Her throat tightened and she swallowed. "You're responsible for my current predicament. You owe me."

He dismissed her. "I owe you nothing. I gave you a chance at a new life and you squandered it, I didn't make you kill Thomas D'Athos."

"You orchestrated the events," she pointed out hotly. She was still furious. After all, if Rochefort hadn't sent those guards to arrest her and Thomas stupidly intervene to help them, he wouldn't have been stabbed.

"Not my problem," he retorted.

"Athos and the others will come after you, you know. If you hadn't killed Aramis, they might have walked away but they won't let that go."

"And you're warning me," he mocked. "How do I know you're not in on it?"

"I'm a survivor, I know what side to choose and when. Athos cast me aside without so much as listening to my side. He can go to hell for all I care."

He stared at her. Milady stared right back, not letting the disgust and discomfort his scrutiny made her feel show. She was a survivor after all.

He set some notes on the table. "That's all you get. Take it or leave it. And if I found you in Paris again, I'll make sure you join Athos in hell." He meant it. Milady knew that. She couldn't quite stop the flicker of fear from crossing her face. But that was alright. It was best for Rochefort to believe that she believed him.

She took the money and headed for the door. His eyes were still on her, she could feel them. She glanced back. He never looked away as he picked up the piece of paper from the table and folded it into his pocket. She was glad when she got out of his sight.

She waved the guard escort away. Continuing towards the exit until she was far enough away from Rochefort and his men, then ducked into an alcove to double back the way she had snuck in.

* * *

Athos heard the lock click and the door swing open a crack. He silently slipped inside. Milady closed and locked it once more.

"We don't have much time," Athos reminded. She shot him a cool look as she made her way to the far wall. Athos tried to focus on the mission. The queen, Constance and Treville's lives all hung in the balance as well as his brothers and countless others. But it was the first time he had been in her presence, alone, since Thomas' death. It was all he could see. The younger brother he had sworn to protect, dead at the hand of the woman he had promised to love.

"This is where he keeps his documents," she said, revealing a hidden wall. Her voice was hard and flat. So, unlike the teasing, passionate one he was used to. That's good. The less like Anne she is, and the more like Milady, the better. He'll remember that way.

He pulled the documents in batches scanning for what they needed. She did the same from the opposite end. "Here." He pulled the sheaf of papers from the shelf onto the table for easier examination. Louis' signature was the easiest to identify, so like the one Athos had seen constantly at one point in his life, so like the former king.

But there were others too, a lot of them, all signed. Lady Marguerite was one. There was one with his own name and ones with his brothers signed by Rochefort and themselves. Some were names he couldn't immediately recognise but there wasn't time to decipher them now. People who probably never realised what they were signing away just desperate to escape, never realising they were entrapping themselves further to such a monster.

So many, more than there should be he realised. Rochefort hadn't cared who he entangled in his snare. People from now. People who he had no reason to condemn. Rochefort hadn't cared. If it furthered his cause Rochefort hadn't hesitated.

"This one has the queen's name," Anne – Milady – remarked. Athos frowned. There was something in her voice that made him take note. She paused. Deciding how best to use it to her favour, no doubt, he thought bitterly. He waited, staring hard.

"The papers he took with him, they had the queen's name on them too. I caught a glimpse before he saw me. It was the same kind of document."

"It was only her name he took?"

"Yes."

Why did Rochefort need another copy of the queen's denunciation but no other? And why risk bringing it with him?

A noise startled them from outside. Instinctively they both stepped into the corridor they had snuck in from as Rochefort guards came into the room.

The little alcove by the door was tiny and forced them together but there was too much of a risk of the guards hearing them to move into the narrow corridor beyond. Athos tried to think, to detect what Rochefort's goal was, anything but focus on how tightly she was pressed against him, her perfume, the scent of her hair that tickled his face, the memory of her lips.

He was kissing her before he realised it. A drowning man frantic for air wouldn't have been as desperate. A distant banging reverberated through the trance and he spilled back out into Rochefort's now mercifully empty office, panting heavily.

He could hear Anne behind, her breathing heavier than usual too. He kept his eyes on the pages in front of him. The mission. Focus on the mission. "We still need to find the ring."

"It's not here at any rate. Rochefort either has it on his person or hid it elsewhere." Athos hoped it was the former, they didn't have time to search further. He moved toward the door.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Oliver, please. Can't there be any happy ending for us?"

"I don't know." Another woman's face flashed in his mind. "We seem destined to repeat the mistakes of our pasts." As much as the conversation tore at him, a small part of him thought Aramis would appreciate the sentiments.

"You loved me. We were happy together."

"I loved you. I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully trust you," he admitted. She withdrew her arm. The hurt on her face jabbed in his heart but he couldn't say anything else. She had lied and killed his brother whatever the circumstances. And he could never look at her as he had again, never see her as he had. Not now, after all he had seen and learnt.

"We need to find the ring," he prompted leading the way out.

* * *

Treville glared at the man in front of him, who was studiously ignoring him. Once again, he tested the ropes that bound him to the handles of the chair. Rochefort's men were competent at that unfortunately. Still Treville hadn't had such a successful military career just by giving up and waiting patiently. He was bait for a trap; he'd quickly realised.

The man in front of him had a sniper's rifle positioned at the window, directly overlooking the street below. Anyone coming up that street – and they'd have to if they wanted to get to the room Treville was now in, he'd noted – would be directly in the line of fire. The narrow, flat faced, terraced houses that lined it, didn't allow for any cover.

His gut clenched as he saw Porthos. He was to see another of his men - his musketeers, his sons - shot. The younger man was inching into the sniper's range.

He waited as Porthos came closer. Just as the man reached for the trigger, Treville toppled himself and his chair forward into the shooter, knocking them both to the floor in a heap. He heard the shot go off but couldn't see if it hit. The swearing of his guards gave him hope.

The sniper disentangled himself, burying his fist in Treville's side as he did. The three other men in the room pressed themselves to either side of the wall, weapons poised to kill whoever came through it.

The seconds ticked by as they waited.

The door burst open; metal buried itself in the wood that followed through. Porthos grabbed at the men foolish enough to lower their weapons in confusion of the trick.

Treville saw the sniper go for his gun and kicked out. He grunted as the man fell over him again blocking his view as he did. He twisted as a knife swung towards him, burrowing itself into the chair. He drove his head against the man's in a head butt. They grappled for a moment. The man trying to get up and Treville making sure he didn't.

Suddenly the man was lifted up and away. Porthos appeared in his field of vision. Treville felt the ropes give way. He accepted the hand-up, his muscles stiff, less from age more from the restraints.

"You saved my life." The words carried that odd familiarity that he was becoming accustomed to.

Treville glanced at the chair still on the ground and then to the three men lying still just inside the door. "I think I could say the same."

Porthos grinned at the acknowledgement, already moving towards the door.

Treville's relief faded as realisation dawned. The risk of Porthos finding out at the wrong moment was too great, better he hear now and have some time to process the news before encountering Rochefort. He didn't believe the younger man would be any less angry or grieved when he inevitably did but at least he might be more clear-headed and in control of his emotions.

"Porthos." He stopped half-way across the room while Treville was still rooted in place. "Aramis- " he paused considering his words. Treville was by his nature blunt and bluff, but even he knew tact.

Porthos nodded in understanding. "After all the grief he's given us, you think he's going to let Rochefort off easy? Day Aramis dies, it'll be because I've had knock to so much sense into him, his head breaks. Or Athos actually ends up shooting him."

Treville laughed. Relief washed through him with the familiar threats and brotherly exasperation and affection that he had so often heard in relation to his men. Aramis wasn't dead.

Porthos gave him another nod. The same relief mirrored in his eyes. Treville moved to join him. They still had a job to do.

* * *

The gun pressed to her head, kept Constance still, even as D'Artagnan appeared at the mouth of the alley, fury in his eyes. "Let her go."

"Drop the gun."

"No, don't D'Artagnan." He didn't listen to her of course, the foolish, reckless, brave man. She could sense the smirk of the man holding her, delighted at the gun now lying on the ground. Scissors raised his own firearm. Three shots rang out in quick succession.

She watched D'Artagnan horrified waiting for him to fall, looking for the tell-tale red stains she didn't want to see. The two men closest to him and Scissors fell to the ground instead.

Everyone stared in puzzlement for a moment. D'Artagnan dove for the gun, snatching it up and rolling to his feet. Brute flailed at him and up at where the sounds had originated. Instinct overtook Constance, she drove her elbow back and into his gut, shoving him away.

She ducked down into a doorway where she had some cover from the now full-fledged gunfight. It was the best option. She couldn't reach any of the guns without risking getting hit herself and D'Artagnan was better off focusing on the fight and not being distracted worrying about her.

The sound of bullets bounced off the alley walls along with the bullets themselves before finally dying away. Constance cautiously peered out. D'Artagnan was the only one still standing – breathing heavily but otherwise unharmed.

Constance hurried to him, flinging her arms around him. He was alright, thank god he was alright.

The idiot then thoughtfully went and asked her the same thing. Constance wasn't sure if she should be annoyed or relieved.

They stayed like that for a brief moment. Just enjoying they were both still alive and ok. Constance needed to steady herself.

A sound at the mouth of the alley broke them apart. Aramis leaned against a wall, his rifle resting against his shoulder. His grin did nothing to hide the bruises on his face or the weariness of his stance.

Constance pulled him into a hug even as she lectured him. "I'm alright Constance. I'm glad you aren't hurt."

She nodded at the murmured words watching the two men. Aramis' arrival was a sharp reminder of what they still needed to do. She helped the men collect anything that might be useful and then the three of them left to stop Rochefort.

* * *

"What's the plan?" D'Artagnan asked as they surveyed the isolated church. Rochefort had no shame at all.

Athos handed him a sheaf of rolled papers. "Burn these the first opportunity you get." D'Artagnan nodded tucking them into his jacket. A church usually had a lot of candles.

"We still have to get his ring," Constance reminded them quietly. Not that they needed the reminder.

"We'll get it. Even if we have to take his finger too." Milady gave a small sound of disgust at Porthos' words. D'Artagnan reached out a hand to Constance's shoulder in comfort.

"Rochefort may have more papers," Athos informed them. The words were to them all, but his eyes were on Aramis alone. The marksman's own gaze had been fixed on building and men in front of them but now swung to their former swordmaster.

"You didn't get hers!" Porthos lay a restraining hand as Aramis glared at their third.

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"There's two," Milady tossed in, from where she sat, the only one of them looking unaffected by the situation. "Rochefort took the second one with him. I managed to catch a glimpse."

"We will find it too," Athos promised. Aramis turned away, mulling things in his mind.

"He'll probably have it on him," Porthos pointed out. Athos nodded in agreement.

"We need to distract Rochefort so we can get as close to him as possible before he realises it," Treville knew he didn't need to tell the Inseparables, even with their memories still hazy the four were clever enough to have realised. But they needed to have at least some semblance of a plan before they moved, for Anne's safety. There was also the two women to consider. Constance was resourceful and capable, but she didn't have the same experience as the rest of them. And he wanted some assurance for himself at least of Milady's cooperation of their plan. They couldn't afford her potential betrayal now.

D'Artagnan frowned lightly. "I have an idea."

* * *

The church was almost empty. Only she, Rochefort, the celebrant and Red Guards as witnesses were present. Anne barely heard the words. All she was thinking about were her friends. The people who had already been hurt. The people she might be able to help with what she was about to do.

Rochefort spoke his vows, paying the ceremony far more attention and reverence than Anne herself. But then this was real to him. In his madness he thought of this marriage as a genuine union between lovers, not a sentence one was being bullied and threatened into.

Her distorted reflection peered back at her from one of the candle holders. The material of her dress glinting from the flames. The dress she wore wasn't one she had picked. It had been presented to her; the implicit order heavier than the fabric of the gown. It resembled one of her court gowns. Another time of long ago. Anne wondered if Rochefort realised just how much he had revealed with his 'gift'.

She had barely remembered her first wedding, back when she had been a mere girl of fourteen, sombrely repeating the words she had been told. Then she had paid rigorous attention, scared of messing up and terrified of what they meant but desperately trying not to show it.

Now she couldn't stop her mind from drifting, dreaming of her previous lives, thinking of her friends, remembering her son, anything but the reality of where she was and what was happening.

The ceremony came to an end and the large paper was placed in front of her. The agreement that freed innocents and doomed her.

She paused the pen hovering over the paper at the sudden riot of sound. She gasped softly in surprise at the sight. "Athos!" Her gaze lifted as she rose to the woman behind him. "Milady."

"What is the meaning of this?" Rochefort asked, his voice deceptively soft. Once upon a time, Anne would have mistaken it for an attempt at appeasement and reconciliation. But she knew better now. Rochefort used it when he was at his most dangerous.

Athos stared steadily back, his gun was trained on Rochefort and he completely ignored the ones trained on him. "I'm going to kill you."

"Your friends- "

"You ordered them all killed."

Anne stepped backwards in grief. They were all dead. She shook her head in disbelief. That could not be true. If it was, that meant… No wonder Athos had taken such reckless measures if his family was gone.

Movement in the alcove to her left caught her eye. Her eyes widened as D'Artagnan crept towards the alter. He caught her gaze and held a finger to his lips. Anne tore her gaze away so as to not give him away even as she fought back her joy. Her musketeers were not dead. They had shown their loyalty as always and come for her, as they always had.

Cautiously she slowly backed away from Rochefort, towards the altar and closer to D'Artagnan.

"Kill them." Rochefort ordered.

The church turned to a battle ground within moments. Anne flinched as gunshots rang in her ears. D'Artagnan darted by her, lunging at Rochefort, the two disappearing into the chaos that now surrounded them.

She sheltered against the alter as the chorus of battle echoed. The mayhem produced that vaguely familiar reminiscence once more, which at least stopped her from becoming overwhelmed entirely.

A bellow rose over the din and she caught a glimpse of Porthos before he vanished again in the melee.

Rochefort re-emerged from the chaos was beside her once more. He was furious. He aimed his handgun at Athos and Constance, who were mere inches from each other, and too busy with their own opponents to realise the new danger.

The candlestick was in her hand before she had even realised, she had moved. Rochefort roared as the still burning flame licked his face.

The bullet buried itself in the wood beside Athos as Rochefort clutched at his face. One hand was still gripping his gun as his other lashed out, knocking the candle from her hands and sending her tumbling to the ground.

She peered up dazed as he loomed over her. Porthos suddenly jumped out of the melee, wrapping his arms around Rochefort in an awkward hug. The two struggled before Rochefort grabbed the chalice and swung it into the musketeer's face. He raised his gun again and fired at the man.

Porthos grunted as he slid to the ground, Anne watching in horror.

Rochefort pushed him back before lunging forward and grabbing her, yanking her towards the sacristy. She fought back as best she could, but he was too strong. Her friends were trying to fight their way towards her but were being held back by the guards.

She froze in the doorway as she recognised a familiar face, Aramis.

And then the church exploded in a cloud of dust and a shower of wood.

* * *

_When the skies have rained enough and the sun goes risin' up_   
_Let it show which one of us needs to be saved._   
_Got to hope we'll make it through and the light will show the truth_   
_Then we'll know which one of us needs to be saved._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well at least I left them all in the same place:)
> 
> This week's question was inspired by You'reMyTicket: What character would you have liked to have seen in the show and/ or what actor would you have liked to play them/ appear.


	12. Superheroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is. For all of you still reading - and a big, big thank you for that - here's the final chapter. Just a warning not everyone makes it out alive:)
> 
> It was a toss up between this and the Script's Hall of Fame - check out the videos on Youtube - but this seemed the most fitting to end on. As always I don't own anything. Enjoy.

* * *

_All the hurt, all the lies  
All the tears that they cry  
When the moment is just right  
You see fire in their eyes_

_'Cause he's stronger than you know  
A heart of steel starts to grow_

_Superheroes - The Script_

* * *

Porthos thought he might cough up a lung with all the dust. He shoved broken timber away as he sat up, standing wasn't quite possible, given the trapped beam over the leg that was still sluggishly bleeding. Just a graze but it stung.

He pointed his gun - with only slightly shaking hands – at the moving pile of splinters and dust. He lowered it in relief as Athos peered out of the dirt and damage, picking his way toward him. A trickle of blood flowed along his collar but otherwise he seemed alright.

Scrapes to the right showed a similarly dirty but relatively unscathed Constance and D'Artagnan. At the back a slightly unbalanced Treville was making his way to them. Porthos peered round, the half-demolished balcony spotted with yawning holes was completely vacant.

As if answering his unspoken pleas, Aramis gave a groan, shoving himself up. The marksman's gaze swept across them. "Anne?"

"Rochefort," Porthos jerked his head in the direction. He'd been closest but his leg had stopped him being fast enough. It pissed Porthos off.

He caught the fleeting hesitance in Aramis eyes as he registered Porthos' injury. Porthos waved him off. "I'm fine."

"Go!" Athos' firm tone conveyed the order Aramis would actually listen to, even as he wedged a long plank under Porthos' beam. The queen couldn't fight Rochefort herself after all.

"I'm coming with you," Constance as Aramis swept pass. The redhead grabbed a magazine from D'Artagnan before quickly disappearing down the corridor after their friends.

"We still need Rochefort's ring," Treville reminded them.

"No, we don't," Porthos winced at the pain as he pulled his arm free and opened his hand. Rochefort's ring – which Porthos had slid off the blond's finger while he'd been distracted trying to kill him – lay on his palm.

The brief looks of admiration he got helped ease the throbbing in his leg slightly. "Need to figure out how to destroy it though."

"That's why I brought this," Treville held up a small bottle of acid.

D'Artagnan burnt the letters along with the ring before helping the captain and Athos leverage the heavy beam up as Porthos slid himself out.

"Should probably burn this as well," Milady tossed out as she tossed another sheet into the pile. The name Anne was all he made out.

He got to his feet. "Great, now let's go get the son of a bitch, for good this time."

* * *

Aramis sped down the corridor, Constance not far behind. They needed to get to Anne before Rochefort could hurt her any further.

The blond was capable of anything. If possible, Rochefort had become even more cruel and ruthless than he had originally been. Aramis knew what the man did to his enemies. He'd seen it, suffered it, lived it. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind, he couldn't afford the distraction. He'd spend the rest of his life in penance if God wished it but right now, he needed to get to Anne.

The simple lock gave way under the force of his momentum. Rochefort was in the middle of the room, looming over Anne, almost hiding her from view, but Aramis could still see the fingers wrapped around her throat.

He tore Rochefort back. "Get away from her!" Rochefort stumbled back, Anne dropped, Constance beside her, wrapping her arms around the younger woman in comfort. Aramis planted himself between them and the other man.

Rochefort glared back. The violent shiny red wound was puffy on his face, increasing the vibrancy of the demented stare. "You won't stop me. I'll have what I deserve."

"It's over Rochefort. Your benefactor's deserted you. We have your ring, your papers. All those people you condemned, they're free now." It was a long shot, but he had to try.

He wasn't at all surprised when Rochefort lunged at him. Constance ushered Anne out of the way and Aramis groaned as the blond's weight hit him. His injuries from earlier combined with the force, sending him to the ground.

Aramis drove his fist into Rochefort's side. Rochefort shifted his weight from the blow. Aramis took the advantage and used it to shove him off.

Both of them got to their feet. Aramis made sure to keep himself in front of the women. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Constance shielding Anne.

Rochefort came at him again. This time Aramis kept his balance, but Rochefort drove a fist into his ribs. His vision blackened for a moment and Rochefort took the upper hand. He slammed his knee into Aramis' stomach and sent him to the ground.

He lay there on the ground winded. He hissed as Rochefort kneeled down, all the man's weight on his chest, an arm across his windpipe. Rochefort snarled down at him. "All you ever were was a prurient, ungrovernable profligate. I saved your life, gave your miserable, worthless existence meaning again. You should be on your knees thanking me. Instead you're doing what you musketeers always do. Oppose me, humiliate me. Well no more." The pressure on his throat increased. "This death, _**will**_ last." He broke off in an agonising scream as the butt of Constance's gun collided with the injured side of his face.

The women moved back as Rochefort stalked towards them. He couldn't let that happen. They were counting on him. He forced himself to his feet and wrenched Rochefort back. He threw his elbow back at Aramis face, but it was a glancing blow.

Rochefort jeered mockingly at him. "What are you trying to do? Repent? Atone for your sins? When I found you, you were half-dead, wailing about all the people you failed to save. Your dead wife, the broken remains of your unit. What makes you think you'll do better this time over any of the others?"

Aramis cocked his head and returned a hard smile. "I could ask you the same question." Rochefort lunged at the words. Aramis dodged, sweeping under and to the side. Rochefort was not an unskilled opponent and was not nursing prior injuries. Aramis had his own reasons to keep fighting though. His family.

The pair quickly became embroiled in a tussle, that neither of them could quite win.

Aramis grunted as a table dug into his side.

"How many of your lovers have died because of you? How many times has the queen?" Aramis couldn't stop the flinch at the reminder but he couldn't let it distract him.

"I'm taking what's mine, what I deserve! Why should you have her." His hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife at Rochefort's waist. In one quick burst of energy he buried it in Rochefort's back, forcing the other man to his knees.

"You never deserved any of it, Rochefort."

"It's over. The ring and the papers are destroyed." Athos glided through the door. The others closely following behind, weapons in hand. Rochefort was surrounded.

"Give it up," Porthos advised.

"I'll never surrender to you!" Aramis didn't have time to call out a warning.

The shot echoed throughout the small chamber.

Rochefort slumped to the ground, the small blade clattering from his hand. D'Artagnan lowered his gun.

The dying man blinked slowly as he stared at the flowing blood.

The quiet of the room allowed only the slightest warning before Richelieu entered. Rochefort grunted at the lack of surprise. "You too. All I've ever been is betrayed."

"The betrayals have always been yours, Rochefort, and this will be your last," Anne retorted with cold, fury.

"Time to pay the piper, as the say," Richelieu sneered, waving a hand. Rochefort exhaled and then was still.

"Is it over," Anne asked, slowly pulling back but remaining close to Constance. Her gaze locked reluctantly on the blond man on the ground.

"Yes, Your Majesty" Treville confirmed. "It's finally over."

* * *

Porthos glanced at the others out of the corner of his eye before staring back over the graveyard in front of them. His mother was buried in one. Not this one, Marie-Cessette was buried in a smaller, more modest plot, the ground still too fresh for anything but a simple wooden cross with her name.

This cemetery had looming mausoleums and shiny, elaborate marble headstones bearing names and epitaphs of their charges. Porthos watched for a moment to see the queen – Anne – lower a fresh arrangement on Louis Bourbon's grave. She stepped back to re-join Treville.

Porthos redirected his eyes. The queen and the captain were the ones who had taken Rochefort's murder of the former king the hardest. They'd witnessed it, hadn't known in time, hadn't been able to stop it. Now they'd had some kind of closure, Porthos supposed they wanted to let the man know, give their sovereign some peace. It only felt right to give them some sort of privacy.

He snuck another glance at the others beside him. Athos caught his glance with a look of his own before shifting his own gaze to follow Porthos' and look to the others beside them.

They all looked like crap, he and Athos included. Porthos figured, he might have been the one who got off lightest, if it was possible to think about it that way. Marie Cessette had died, he'd had to watch his mother fade away once more, but at least it was on her terms. Marie Cessette had lived a full life this time, in her own way and he'd had years more with her. Lost her as an adult with his brothers to support him in his grief instead of a little boy all alone. He'd miss her, he'd always miss her, she was his mother, but he'd focus on the happy memories and making a better life for himself. She'd want that.

Then there was Charon's betrayal. That would hurt for a while, Porthos knew, maybe always would. But at least he had his brothers back to remind him why he had left the Court in the first place, brothers to remind him what true brotherhood was.

D'Artagnan wrapped an arm around Constance. Rochefort's men hadn't hurt her too badly when they'd grab her thankfully. She was a bit unsettled by the whole thing though. But Constance was a strong young woman, Porthos knew she'd be ok.

D'Artagnan's father still hadn't woken up. The whelp was putting up a good front but… Whatever happened they'd stand by him. They weren't going to let their little brother shoulder that burden alone.

He glanced back at Athos again. Porthos hated that the other man had had to go through Milady and losing his brother again. Athos didn't deserve to carry the guilt he did, it wasn't his fault, but he wouldn't be Athos otherwise. Porthos squeezed his hands into fists. He'd like to kill Rochefort all over again if the man wasn't already dead. Properly and for good this time.

Athos caught his glance. Porthos shifted embarrassed to be caught but not willing to shy away. "You going to be alright?" Stupid question he knew but maybe Athos needed reminding he wasn't alone too.

Athos didn't answer, his eyes sliding away from Porthos' face to rest on their last brother. Aramis stared out at what to him and Athos was a graveyard but by the marksman's unfocused gaze could be anything to the medic's mind.

"You think he's going to be alright?" Porthos asked worriedly. Rochefort had made sure he'd found a way to torture Aramis. He'd manipulated him, gotten him to do Rochefort's dirty work for him and forced Aramis to relive some of his most painful moments and somehow made them worse. He had a sudden desire to kill Rochefort all over again.

"We'll make sure he is," Athos promised firmly.

They both straightened as Treville and Anne returned. The former queen stopping beside Aramis. The pair only glanced at each other for a moment but Porthos didn't miss them holding hands. D'Artagnan still had his arm around Constance.

"How long before we're buying wedding presents do you think."

The pain in Athos' eyes didn't go away but it lightened for a moment. "Do you really think Aramis would do something as conventional as a normal wedding."

Porthos huffed a laugh under his breath. "We'll probably have to save him from the fury of half the jilted women in Paris."

Athos' lips quirked.

"What do we do now?" Constance asked bringing them back to the present.

"Whatever we want," said D'Artagnan, "whatever that is."

"I have no idea," responded Treville warily. They all seemed a little lost.

"There are still musketeer pins awaiting their owners, Captain," Anne stated. "And there are still many people in Paris who need help."

They exchanged looks as they considered the queen's words. Could they be musketeers again?

Aramis lifted a hand. "All for one?" Porthos didn't hesitate in joining him. Neither did Athos or D'Artagnan. "And one for all."

* * *

_She's got lions in her heart  
A fire in her soul he's a got a beast  
In his belly that's so hard to control  
'Cause they've taken too much hits, taking blow by blow  
Now light a match, stand back, watch them explode_

_When you've been fighting for it all your life_   
_You've been struggling to make things right_   
_That's a how a superhero learns to fly_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it. Hopefully it loved up to expectations. Stay safe and feel free to cite you fave Musketeers theme songs in the comments and reviews


End file.
